


In Remembrance of Becoming Us

by StanxOllie



Category: Laurel and Hardy (Movies)
Genre: Companions, Conflict of Interests, Couple, Emotions, F/M, Feelings Realization, Golden Age Hollywood, Implied Relationships, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, LGBTQ Themes, Love, Loyalty, Lust, M/M, Married Couple, Multi, Other, Personal Growth, Realization, Romance, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StanxOllie/pseuds/StanxOllie
Summary: A fictionalized affair between Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, as told from the perspective of memories and events written, spoken and shared over the span of their legendary 30 year close relationship.
Relationships: Oliver Hardy & Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy/Stan Laurel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. One

I was never a writer, still ain't, however I feel compelled to write this especially with my recent health problems. Stan is the writer, I just follow and stay loyal. He once told me "distance makes the heart grow fond."

We first met at Roach Studios in 1921. One movie and we go on separate ways. Stan told me that I stuck with him that first time, that it must of been his heart reeling me back to him.

It was fate and a bad burn that saw us back in movies together.

Me being the actor to his direction and creative writing, the studio took notice with Hal taking the chief responsibility of paring us together. Hal watched everyone closely, on and off set. I suppose protecting "his studio brands".

I have hunted before. As Stan and I continued to work together, I felt as though I was being eyed by a cunning carnivore. His rising, boiling feelings started to invade my aura. I first thought he was joking around, trying very hard to be friends. But after a few weekends spent off set, I soon found out that he was serious about his desires.

My palm reader didn't tell me about this.

I became very apprehensive, deepening into my hobbies, only showing up for work and leaving when filming was done. However... I started to feel bad for ignoring Stan...

We are partners after all.

One day after a shoot, it started raining terribly. There were a few trailers set up like small studio apartments in the back lot. Everyone else took flight. My car was in the shop, taxi's and Stan's driver refused to come in the downpour.

Our clothes were sobbing wet. We peeled them off and then took a shower one by one. I first went into bed with a towel wrapped around my waist, sitting up, looking out the window, the rain trickling down on the glass. Stan came out of the steamy bathroom standing there, grabbing a hold of the towel around his waist. Our eyes met in a quiet waltz of curiosity and wonder.

I slid over a bit as Stan came in to lay beside me. My skull became numb, heavy and warm, looking down at the front of the bed. I didnt want him to know how shy I was about this situation. I felt pieces of every sense of my mind flow into my veins, emptying and fogging up my mind.

After a half our, nothing happened. The two of us laid in bed, me on my back, Stan slightly on his side. My hand naturally traveled under his cheek, making it a pillow. He smirked, looked down with a sigh.

"You know... I've never been with a man before..." I told him.

Stan replied, "Well... I've been wit' at least three... That I can remember... Some might a' been with Hollywood 'investors', but I was so drunk, I can't fully recollect... Nor d' I want to..."

"Stan..." I replied solemnly.

"I've never been attracted to men, Babe... Still aren't... There is something wit' in me that feels it needs to be apart of every bit of what you are." Stanley said gently, with some nervousness, probably afraid of my reaction.

I felt a twinkle of acceptance, relief and comfort in his words. Him wanting to be with me, wishing to know who I was in a close way felt exciting yet scary in a thrilling way. Something within me wanted the same, and still does.

"Maybe we're some kind of star-crossed soulmates." I replied with a chuckle and smirk, looking down and away.

Stan's eyes rose up on the side of my face. I suddenly felt the back of his palm then fingers slide down for a landing on my cheek. I looked at him through the corners of my ever growing tired eyes. His enlarging smile made my lips stretch into a soft one.

"Who ever said we were stars?" Jokingly said Stan.

We talked all night, somehow ended up under the covers of the bed and awoke embraced within each others arms. Truthfully, I didnt know where Stan started and I ended.

I felt as if the nights rain washed our physical beings and the morning sun melted us together.

We were both quiet as the two of us sat up in bed. We always, somehow did things together, almost at the same time. I could feel Stan look at me as I kept my head turned away from him to the point my neck started to become sore. My avid shyness took over as I cleared my throat trying to wipe away the forced smile on my face that my emotions stitched there. My cheeks started to fill with blush as Stanley's hand slid to the side of my hip, with the top of his pinky finger finding a home nestled between the bed and under the edge of my thigh.

"Now what...?" I breathed out with a nervous smirk as my fingers danced with one another on my lap.

Suddenly, Stan moved to the front of me, grabbed my face with his one hand and locked our mouths together in a deep, quick kiss. As fast as it was, it transported me to the beginning and end of time. I swear I saw my entire life within that first union of our mouths. I know my face must have been as a steak tomato. I froze in place with the room Still and moving, looking forward.

"Good morning." Stan said in a chipper tone. "Last nigh was great."

I shook my head, blinking myself out of the shock and replied, "But we didn't... You know..."

"I beleive we did." Stanley said as he started putting on his now dried clothes. "Not everything is physical, Babe. Even when it comes to intimacy and making love."

The sun's morning warmth started to crawl and hike up my back in its multiple yellow palette.

"Well I guess you're right." I said with a strong chuckle, open smile and scratching the back of my head. "Sometimes there's no words express things. That's why I follow you... The write-ta' and Direct-ta."

Stan looked at me in a frozen stance. I looked back with curious concern. The room went quiet with Stanley standing, half clothed, silent, looking at me like a stalking cat about to pounce a mouse, which he did.

I quickly covered my lap and the edges of my lower half as he crawled toward me. I raised my hands toward him, with Stanley lacing his fingers in one, pushing our palms together. I knew that look, at first I was nervous about it, however, within the same moment I remembered we were on the studio lot and people would arrive soon to clean up the rain water and get to filming.

"Hold on, Stan! We have work! People should start coming in soon!"

Stan's arms wrapped around my neck and his bare chest against my bare shoulder and upper arm. I looked at him slightly annoyed with impatience tracing my face.

"You're right, Babe. We do need you to be able to walk now, don' we, dear?" Stan said warmly and slightly threateningly a few inches away from my ear. Stan's nose traced down my cheek to the edge of the cup of my neck. He then suddenly pulled me closer to him and firmly, yet gently bit me. I gave out a surprised, annoyed yell making Stan pop off me.

Stan got back to getting dress, nonetheless I was perturbed by his morning antics. The room turned fully yellow, blending us with the rooms surroundings. I kept my arms tightly crossed in a huff looking out the window.

"Alright, Babe, the clothes are dry. The crew will be here shortly."

"Then why'd yew' bite me fo-wa'?!" I snapped, turning my head to Stan. "I was tell-in yew' that!"

Stanley then replied, "Strike one, Babe."

I asked, "Strike one?! Fer' what!?"

"For being so cute" He answered.

"Well I can't... Being cute...?" I paused in curiosity at his words.

"Looks like your on your way to strike two. Strike two is more than a nibble, hon. Care for a preview?" Stan asked sincerely.

We looked at one another for a few moments, then I shook my head, turning away from him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reached down and grabbed my clothes and replied, "...I'm get'n dressed..."


	2. Chapter Two Part One

Was it unusual for two fellas to be around one another? Be close with their emotions? It did not matter if we were sitting or standing, somehow we would collide.

It leaked into the improvised skits in our movies, and rare outings together.

Everything was not perfect and sunny around and within our other relationships, however. Stan's internal conflicts emptied his house. Stanley called me over after his private second or third split with Big Lois, we called her, his first "official" wife. Stanley sat against the armrest of a chaise, slightly reclined as I laid my upper body against his chest and lap with my legs crossed looking forward listening to him.

His right arm laid on top of the seat, holding his cigarette as his left arm hung over the back of the armrest, holding mine. He told me his mind was like Coney Island.

"Bright, fun, exciting, you know. People will ride with you, play ring toss, whatever... Then they want ta' take you from the amusement park. It's a struggle to leave an' you might, but you find yer' self there again." Stan surmised.

In between the pouring of his thoughts, Stan would feed me my cigarette as he smoked his. The edge of my fingers rested on top of his as a inhaled and closed my eyes breathing in the smoke and his aroma.

Stan was a perfectionist. It was ironic that someone that wanted everything to be a certain way would mess up his relationships so vividly and knowingly. I would meet with him, other writers and directors for skits, gags and other things. It was when we were alone with writing the situation for a joke or theme of the movie when we would disagree.

I hated the way my hair was, it got sweaty and looked unkept. I told him I thought my character would care to look more dapper, but he disagreed heavily. I just didnt want to look like a big, fat slob.

It came to a head one day at his home office. He was a bit tense over another situation and it leaked into our conversation. Stan is a very sensitive man, if something bothers him he used to find something bad in a new conversation. He brought up my hair again and I snapped at him.

He was sitting with his back turned away from me as if I wasn't there, another tactic of his, trying to pretend the person doesn't exist if he is upset with them or ashamed of himself. It usually did not bother me, however the way he smoked, his back facing me and the tapping of his cigarette into his ash tray on his writing desk just made me boil over.

The last thing I remember him saying, before storming out of his office and slamming the door was, "See you at lunch-" and before he could say my name I was halfway out his house.

You really think after almost 30 years we never had a disagreement? We'd never yell, argue or whatnot, nonetheless, sometimes I needed to leave Stan's Island too. I had golf and getting deeper into debt with my gambling. Great hobbies. Stan dove into work, but also had "quiet" hobbies for a loud mind, I called it. He'd garden, fished, really loved fishing.

However, the line between us would start to come firm and reel us closer together. I have a lifetime ticket to Stan's Island.

After one of my rounds of golf, I found myself on the phone, surrendering my pride to reach out to Stanley. Sitting close to the phone, and twisting my club, the smile on my face gave away my poker hand as I spoke to him.

"So... Ah... Lunch then..." I said.

"Yes Babe... How's about lunch on the golf course? My treat." Stan replied.

What I did not know, the lunch on the green would be in a different continent.

I knew that I would go anywhere with him, if need be, but to another continent? Over the Ocean? My wife at the time was having alcohol problems, I figured that a different scenery, none less part of the world would help out. Unfortunately it didnt. I soon needed a vacation from the vacation.

So did Stan.

Stan wanted to formally introduce me to his family, visit his mother's grave and have some private time out of the turmoil he mixed up with his wife back in the states. Some fan recognized us, our names, one thing led to another and it lead us serving the community, stage shows, etc. Just like one of our movies, we always seemed to find trouble!

We did get some private time in between publicity shots, touring English attractions. I felt bad that I had a better time with this man then I did with my wife. I loved her, I made vows with her and had a need to take care of her. However, she wasn't letting me take care of her. I knew this was one of the last ditch efforts to show her better things besides the drink.

Within our last few days in Britain, my wife and I got into such a bad argument, I had to wait in Stan's room while they prepared another room for me to stay in. I used up my betting money to keep the hotel staff quiet about the spousal quarrel they might or might not have seen and to basically keep numb about our stay. Stan paced back and forth in front of me, smoking, with another hand in his pocket. I watched him feeling like a child that was nervous about what was going to happen next. I cleared my throat trying to break the silence, which slightly made him jump. He then walked heavily to the window, laying his forearm on the wall for his forehead to rest.

"Why didn't you stick her in a damn treatment center or the like?!" He barked.

"Stan, I thought it would be good for her to-" I tried to explain.

"She drank more than 100 dollars while we were sight seeing, Babe! We did not come here to babysit your wives drunken demons!" He then threw down his cigarette, walked hurryingly toward me, sat down beside me with both hands in his pockets and leaned forward.

Starting to swallow tears, I truly had a great time with him and Myrtle, till all of that happened. All I could do was sit there, half slumped, slowly turning my lowered eyes and head towards what I was expecting to be a reddened face, angry bull. What I saw was the red face, but with it watery eyes, filling with tears and a quiet cry coming from him.

My posture straightened, with a slightly open lips trying to say something past being surprised. Stan darted a look at me then turned away.

"St-"

"I was supposed to,... visit my mother... My family. Familiar loving faces... I ruined a good marriage with a good woman. We are trying but, well it's really her that is trying. I never knew how to be committed, just feel. All I feel is... Babe, I dont know what I feel. So, I thought that the fog, a homemade meal, would be a shot in the arm for me."

Stan's sobbing cut me. Feeling very much responsible, my head lowered, I lightly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I should leave ahead of you, on the next boat, with Myrtle. I'm honored to have accompanied you... But you need to do whatever it takes to make you feel more sure of things, and I need to... Settle things with my wife..."

Stan turned to me like a guard dog who smelt a intruder. His hands falling right below my shoulders, then starting to grip firmly. I wanted to fall into his constriction, melt and blend with him. I then realized I was becoming lost within Stan's venom. My physical body, reluctantly took over, staggering away, as half of it wanted to give myself to whatever emotions he was going to deploy onto me, and every part of my heart, my emotions, my very soul, I dare say, already felt the affects coursing through.

I said something of the like "I will leave you to your thoughts" as I found my way out of the room, blurred, dizzy and on rubber knees, making it just in time to my new room.

The next day, Stan and I did the interviews and stage shows, then at night I would skip dinner going straight to my room. Looking back, it's laughable, but at the time I was a confused and a nonconfrontational youngster to these emotions. I was excited and scared admittedly.

Stan had room service send me candy, cigars, local food and even his favorite flavor of ice cream all within a span of 3 hours!

Finally, after turning away all of the food, I realized I had to talk to him, at least to make sure he was ok and plus I did not want to waste the local delicacies being sent to me. Opening the door the bell boy walked in with a cart full of food. I turned away clearing the room table. I fumbled looking for a tip to give room service but then suddenly heard the room door slam. I jumped and thought how rude the fella was, but realized he must of been sore at me turning things away for the past few hours.

Turning with money in hand I could feel all of my blood and color drop to my feet and toes.

Stan stood there, his chest moving up and down with firm breath, head lowered, glaring at me like a wolf that found his run away hunt.

I always wondered with such bright blue eyes, how they could be so piercing.


	3. Chapter Two Part Two

I gulped and cleared my throat, nonetheless before I knew it he grabbed me. Even to this day, I do not remember him moving to me, it just happened all at once. I think I let go a squeal, a small cry like a mouse or rabbit being taken by a hawk, being flown away.

"Of all people..." Stan said under his fiery breath.

I tried to reply, however he interrupted: "I dont know whether to shake you stupid or turn away and leave like you left me!"

"Stan, I did-not 'leave you', I let you alone to think! To clear your thoughts! I would never abandon you!" I snapped.

His talons loosened enough for me to turn from him. I felt hurt and told him so.

Before long, Stan and I were talking, sitting on the side of the bed. He apologized for 'drowning' within himself, and promised the last day or two in Britain would be about us relaxing. I didn't feel for more sight seeing, but yielded for him, like he went along with me to golf time to time.

After a while, night blanketed the sky. Stan went towards the room door and said 'goodnight'. I replied the same, hearing the doorknob click. Unbuttoning my shirt, I quickly turned my head to the door and noticed Stan sitting in the chair next to it, taking off his shoes with one hand, loosening his tie with the other, focused on me the entire time. I was going to say something, but he got undressed so frighteningly quick, that it took me for a pause as he came over and started to finish what I was beginning to do with my shirt. In defensive shock, I gently slapped at his hands making Stan pause. Our eyes locked and time stood still. Forcing myself to gulp, I then lowered my head and eyes.

I felt like a small bird, Stan the Owl picking at the feathers and skin, trying to reach my flesh.

My shirt peeled off, then slippers, pants and the same for him. All that was separating us was old world decency and boxers.

As Stan snaked over my body, also pulling the covers over us, I reclined into the bed, him pressing against me firmer with every inch I surrendered to the uncharted landscape of our emotions. I closed my eyes and prepared for the enviable.

His breath like a warm, quick fog, settled over the cup of my neck, softening the landing for Stan's lower face to sink in.

Then I shot up, launching Stan off of me falling back into Earths surface from space.

"Babe, what, what are you-"

"My wife...! I told her that I would talk to her tonight..."

"Babe, that dame is probably swimming in every drink for 50 miles!"

I turned on the light, not even remembering it being turned off, went around the room to find my clothes and threw them on. Stan moaned, kissed his teeth and followed suit.

I knocked on my wife's door with Stan behind me looking almost breathless, breathing mostly through his mouth. Our eyes locked and before we could say anything, Myrtle opened the door. She surprisingly looked sober, kind, wearing a soft robe. That clean face always reeled me in. It was a promise never kept. She then snapped to Stan, started tapping her foot and her nails on the edge of the door.

"Three is a crowd, Babe. I thought it was going to be just the two of us?" She said.

Stan quipped, "I know the feeling."

Myrtle then gave Stan a confused look. I patted his shoulder, told him goodnight and went into my wife's room, closing the door behind me.

We ended up spending the night together. She profusely apologized and tried to be intimate. The most I did with her was some passionate kissing and embracing, but wasn't in the mood past that.

That was one of the first, last straws for me.

I was a married man, a Mason, a fellow with commitments, awards, internationally known! All of this tangled emotions, running around and giving into another mans grasp was something I thought wouldn't be prudent. Had me a wake at nights... Wondering if it would be.

Morning came, I shaved, took a shower, put on my best business suit, and like a man on a mission knocked on Stan's door.

I knew he would be there, it was only 6 a.m. After no answer for a few minutes with no sound of movement from in his room, I felt the instinct to turn the doorknob and it was unlocked. My alpha attitude went to curious concern. Unfortunately, it was justified.

Stan was on the floor in the middle of the room, his face to the side with no less than five bottles of booze next to the bed. I rushed over to him, turned the marinated man over then found a note in his pants pocket sticking out halfway.

"Since this gets your attention, then I will do it too. But I always had a problem with drink anyway. No skin off my nose, Babe."

It was written with haste like most of Stan's unfortunate life decisions. I wanted to slap him, but he probably wouldn't have felt it. I stuffed the letter into my pocket, lifted Stan off the floor and laid him in the bed.

Later in the morning, Myrtle joined me, feeling embarrassed. Seeing him like she sometimes was actually had her stop drinking so heavily for the next few weeks. She spent the rest of the day sightseeing as I sobered Stan back to existence. Holding the man up as he vomited in the bathroom, not always making the sink or toilet, fixing black coffee, cold water and ordering meals with lots of bread.

By mid afternoon, Stan had a terrible headache, but was mostly coherent.

"Of all the stunts, Stan!"

"...I just wanted... Babe, I-"

"Don't you think I deal with this enough?!" I yelled.

"Babe..."

I stood up, stomped my foot and tightened my fists.

"No! No, dammit! All I've see in Georgia, Jacksonville, Hollywood, in my own home, wit' my wife! Now here, practically in another world... With you...?"

Stan's face became frozen on me, his mouth agape.

"Of all people... Right?..."

Stan looked down and away. He swallowed, not knowing what to say.

"RIGHT?!" I roared.

"Babe, please! I-"

I turned away, not angry at him, I felt actually ashamed I yelled at the boy! Rushing out of his bedroom, it felt like miles to mine. I could hear him calling, afraid to turn back. I slammed the door behind me, leaning against it as I slid heavily down to the floor, I wept. I wept heavily. Stan, whom must have been riding on my shadow, came knocking and as luck would have it, my wife. She knocked calling for me. Suddenly, the two started to argue. I shot up, wiped away tears and opened the door.

"Babe, what did he do?! What did he say?!" She asked in real concern.

I looked at him, then at her and said, "I-I guess things happened differently from what I expected."

"Oh, Babe." My wife said as she embraced me. A real warm, loving embrace. Not different from what I have felt with Stan. Stan took one look at us and turned away like a tornado ready to rip apart a town.

We played the ending of our 'British tour' for the cameras and Pathe. The press followed us onto the ship back to The States for Pete's sake.

Thank goodness for first class. The press was ushered away and we could unwind. I looked at Stan through the tops of my eyes, then quickly turned away. I knew that my trust for him was broken, fractured at the least. Stan went away quickly to his quarters.

We didn't speak the entire ship ride until room service knocked on my door saying Stan and my tickets were voided for the second half of the trip.

Stan soon called saying he needed to see me immediately about this diversion and see if we could "fix the error'.

I greeted him 'good morning' and Stan nodded. I sighed, rolled my eyes, with a few blinks. The two of us had to get off the ship at the next port. We had ample time to reorder tickets or speak to someone about what happened. We sat within a private first-class balcony overlooking the port, just a few hundred feet from the cruise.

Stan sat on the other side of the small table, taking long draws of his cigarette, looking forward at the ship. The more he stared forward the more antsy I got.

"Stan, did you speak with anyone? What is this about?" I asked with worry.

He took in a long breath of the cigarette, crossed his legs, and sighed out the smoke. Tapping his mostly finished cigarette on the tables ash tray, he had the nerve to ask me about the gift of cigars.

"I bought them, I should get at least one or five. These cigarettes aren't enough." Stan demanded softly.

Becoming flustered, I nearly tore open the suitcase with the gift, actually counted six for the demon incarnate and almost throwing them, but caught the fact it was late morning with hundreds of people walking about.

Stan nodded his head, barely making eye contact with me. The gentleman within me took over. I lit the cigar for him and begun to ask him about the ship, when a very cheerful service man came to Stan with tickets. Stan nodded, autographed a paper for him, me in turn and he left. I felt relief thinking everything was handled, then as I started to stand, Stan reached out his arm and barred me.

"That's not our ship, Babe." Stan said calmly, looking forward.

I looked on confused back at the ship, then back at him. "What? Stan, you said that you would handle everything. What about the tickets you just got? The trip home?!" I asked, perplexed.

"Our ship is at the least another hour in a half or so, Babe. I made arrangements to explain to your wife we had other priorities due to Hollywood and celebrity status nonsense."

"Stan, that isn't-You... What did you...!" I began to yell at him, catching myself again.

All I could do was roll my lips in, widen my eyes and glare at the devil of a man. He then picked up another cigar, pressed the tuck to the lit end of the one he was smoking. Stan then put the newly lit cigar in his mouth passing the one he was smoking to me. Looking down at his fingers, I realized this trip was far from over. I took his smoked cigar raising my eyes to his. Looking at one another, there was a pause. As I felt myself starting to blush, Stan looked down at his hand then at me again with a aura of invisible satisfaction on his face.

My lips embraced the dampened cap and head of the cigar. I put my hand on the middle of the table as I looked forward then felt his almost leap a top of mine. His hand, mine, melted into one.

I felt free and bound.


	4. Chapter Three Part One

I cannot believe Stan moved to that apartment. I know it is right on top of the ocean and it's easier than keeping a house, mortgage, all of that. Our age and distance makes it hard to get around sometimes, however Ida comes over time to time with our husband or if me and Lucille dont make our way, Lois will pick us up for the holidays.

It makes me laugh how upset Stan was when I lost all of this weight. He said I was his "favorite pillow" and that I'm not allowed to wear his clothes.

I remember one time staying over his apartment for the new years holiday and waking up in the middle of the night. Stan has a weighted resentment over the past, mostly for his actions. He was standing over me in the darkness like a demon guardian or angelic vengeance. His fists were closed but fingers moving against palms.

As he sat down on the guest bed, with his head lowered, I turned to him quickly, asking him what was the matter.

"I should of told you everything from the beginning, Babe. I always tried to handle things myself. I always did. I felt it was my life and everyone around me chose to latch on."

I looked down, then rubbed his shoulder and back.

"Stan, I just let you handle things. It was easier and it still is. As long as we are together, that is all that matters."

I then sat up in bed behind him, leaning against his back and laying my head on his shoulder. I purposely put my lips close to his ear for privacy reasons, because Ida was in the next room and to bring a close comfort for the both of us.

"After all these years... We are here together."

"I dont deserve your companionship..." Stan said solemnly.

"Will you fight what has sustained for so long and brought to you? We dont ask for a lot of things, Stanley, but I'm glad for this. My favorite bed."

"This bed? Tis' a dime a dozen, full-size roll out, Babe."

I wrapped my arms around his torso, curling into his neck and frame. The tension in his body relaxed with a deep, breathy sigh. He laid his arms with mine.

There could of been so many things Stan was sorry for. Was it this... No, Ha, ha.

Or that...? Maybe.

"I should of told you..." That is what he said. Hum...

We became closer over time, especially around the filming of 'Babes in Toyland'. Myrtle was in a treatment center, Stan was having trouble on and off set and he'd injured his leg.

We both stood together against Hal trying to steam roll us. I understand he was a businessman and he gave us a lot of freedom to do our work, but we didn't like so many other factors of the process. All we wanted was to be treated equally, just be together on things.

I think I recollect now. Even though there were so many things, there was one time where I thought it would be just a "professional" relationship.

It still hurts thinking about it now, and I see Stan is certainly remorseful.

We were sitting at a table on set, finishing up a scene, talking about different things. Fin and Charlie sat with us and started teasing.

"So when is your next honeymoon?" Finlayson coughed out.

"Yea, it's been a few years since your first one to Britain!" Charlie smiled.

My face automatically and unwillingly started blush and smile in embarrassment. With all of the card playing I never developed much of a poker face. Didnt know what to say and stumbled like I had greased shoes on ice.

"Why, would you like to watch?" Stan snapped.

I quickly turned my head to him almost breaking my neck and freezing in place. Stan sat back in that defiant kind of open range of his.

"So, is it going to work this time?" Hall asked, leaning forward in his chair, lacing his fingers together. "Babe is a nice fella, you two work together. It would be awkward, you know."

I looked at Stan, Charlie, James and then at Stan again.

"Stan...? What are they tal-"

"Babe and I are fine. Just worry about staying on contract and your moral clause warning, Charlie." Stan fired back.

Charlie and James looked at one another wide-eyed then let out rolling laughter. Hall wiped his tears with a smile.

"Ok, Mr. Kettle!" Charlie chuckled.

"In truth Stan, we like you and Babe, he's good for you and we can all tell you sincerely care about the fellow. Keep this one." James said.

The air around us became thick and still as everyone went quiet. We all could hear Stan's lungs fill with smoke and exhale. He then tipped the cigarette on the gate of the table, leaning forward. I could tell his mind was racing yet standing still as if he was a fish caught within his own webbing.

I didnt pry. As a man you let men tell things on their time. I let Stan handle Stan, however, could Arthur handle Stan...? Not always.

Maybe I should of asked looking back, I did not wish to pull something out that he wasn't ready to tell. I feel bad that he is so remorseful now. There were mistakes, missteps' on both our shoulders.

A day or two, if I remember correctly passed. Stan told me that he told Fin and Hall about us being close. It took me a back because I didnt wish for others to get the right idea about what was supposed to be something between us!

Though it was more of a passionate companionship and with mostly trying on his side, we still did not become too intimate. He assured me Fin and Charlie could be trusted.

Stan and I were so heartbroken over Fin's passing. I got a stoke around the same time, I want to say before he passed. Stan was right about both Charlie and James in the end.

That day we had to do some publicity shots with Durante and Keaton again. Buster was trying to revive his career in the world of talking film by teaming up with Jimmy.

After the shoot the two couldn't wait to part ways. It was a arranged marriage of oil and water.

We had a coffee and smoke with Buster, sitting between me and Stan. The three of us joked and had a lively conversation until Keaton pulled out a flask and asked if anyone of us wanted to "Irish up" their coffee. I spoke up saying it was too early in the day. Buster paused on me, put away the flask and rested his chin as he famously did on his closed hand.

I felt he was looking into my soul trying to find something. Stan looked over at me, then at Buster.

"He takes real good care of you, Stan. I know why he doesn't want to flavor the Joe. Does it not get boring?" Buster asked.

Stan looked around, swallowed, cleared his throat and looked at Keaton. "Buster, Babe is right. Lets relax and catch up. We have not sat down and chewed the rag in a while and you barely know Babe at all."

"Yeah Buster." I chuckled and smiled in a friendly way. "What is your favorite color."

Buster froze again, took one look at me then turned to Stan, putting his hand on Stan's face and suddenly kissed him deeply on his mouth.


	5. Chapter Three Part Two

What could I do? My heart felt like a fireplace outside in a winter storm. "Buster! For gods sake!" Stan snapped.

"What? You and "Babe" have been rolling in bed for 10 or so years on screen. No one in broad daylight here will think anything of it..." Keaton replied sheepishly.

"Buster please... Let me talk to Babe about this."

"So you two are... "Close"... Keaton summarized.

"We've become close, yes, Buster, but not in the way you or everyone with a overactive imagination thinks! You can be close to a bloke, care and not do "things' wit' the fella! I'm with Ruth." Buster leaned toward me with his chin resting on his closed fist. His face looked like a cat that sneaked into a cream factory. "What do you see in Him, Stan? I'm a bit younger, definitely more spry."

"Buster... Look!" Stan interrupted quietly.

"I suppose he is a cute pillow. Not my type, but, cute." Keaton mocked. Suddenly Buster leaned closer to me as if he was to kiss me. I was already frozen to the bone, however my soul went to shock, as if a deer in headlights. Stan then yanked buster by the arm away from me, turning him halfway towards him.

"You hypercritical fence door...! You said-" Buster started to answer.

"I told you... I-will-speak-to-him!" Stan Interrupted. Keaton pulled his arm away from Stan, Stood up, adjusting his jacket, staring daggers at the pale blue-eyed man, then turned his head toward me so fast I thought he was going to fall from shock. "Don't trust him with your heart, Oliver. You know how he is, you have seen the legions of women, party people he is around, or locked in his office, editing, writing and stewing." Buster leaned over me, putting one hand on the back of the chair I was sitting in and the other on the table. His face was close to mine I could count the pours on it. Stan stood up, adjusted his vest and jacket and then pulled at Keaton again. Buster stayed firm over me, snapping away from Stan's grip. In a low voice, Buster told me that him and Stan were lovers when Stan temporarily went back to stage shows and started in some silent movies. Buster came from a strict religious family that valued traditions. He said he never liked women "in that way" and said some distasteful things about them that I shalt write here in his explanation to me. The two bonded over the trouble with women, however he knew Stan couldn't resist a "comforting" pretty face, male or female.

Stan was more careful and supposedly "broke it off" between the two of them because his Australian common law wife was very clingy and the studio had plans for Stan. Buster was upset and heart broken but the two stayed friends, without benefits and promised that he would be the only man that he would ever wish to be with that way Now seeing us together, close and comfortable with one another, burnt him. "As a human being to another, as a man with emotions to another, all Stan wants is a cool pillow, Baby, trust-me! As soon as you get too warm and is used to you, he throws you on the floor, switches to the next cushion, you know it." Buster pushed off my chair and started to walk away till Stan got ahold of his wrist. The two locked eyes and stood there. I got up quietly as possible and waved at the two. Stan let go and went after me, stopping me.

"Babe, listen, I can explain everything." Stan started.

"Look, the two of you obviously need to do some catching up. I do not wish to get in between whatever you fellas got or had going on. I will see you on set, tomorrow, no... we finished the last scene." I replied.

"I will talk to Buster, later, however I cannot bear it if you walked away now without understanding my side of things... Please, Babe... Please."

"Stan, I dont want any trouble." I said softly, and then patted his hand." Stan let go of me quickly, went to Keaton and said something in a low tone. Buster looked at me, then Stan and then walked away. I felt terrible because I honestly wanted the two to speak. Later that night, Stan took me to the same trailer that we stayed in when the downpour of rain happened all those years ago. It was almost the same situation, except there was no rain. The night seemed thick, the door was locked, drapes pulled back. I knew this feeling. I was scared, excited and nervous. My bones became like a vice, turning stiff against liquid muscles, flowing yet chunky blood and short breathes. Scraping at the back of my shoed foot with the other, I looked down, fidgeting, lacing my fingers. My gulps felt like swallowing particles of dry gravel. Stan sitting on the bed made me grow three hearts and lose five at the same time. He explained that what Buster said was true, but he disagreed that he discarded the fella's feelings. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, Babe. Not that it was not important, nor that Buster's feelings aren't legitimate, he never let me know that was the way he felt. Buster and I had a space in time that I look back on as not toxic, but not very healthy. Fast paced, yet stuck in mud."

"I didnt think I would want to be close to a guy like this. I still care about Myrtle-"

"Goodness knows why." Stan quipped as he lit a cigarette hanging off his lips. I sat up, blinked a few times and looked on at him with widened eyes. "She is my wife, Stan. My friend, lover, confidant... At least... That is the way I wish it was. I'm more of a friend to her than she is to herself, and within that process she is not a friend to me." I automatically started to weep, lifting my hands to my face, turning them into a fountain. "All I wanted to do was be the man I was expected to be. Play around on the course and be bad at the track..."

I wiped away the tears on my shirt, breathed in and looked up.

"Now these feelings. I have been told my entire life it is wrong, and I still love women, but why... Why am I here, with you... Like this?" I turned on the side table light so I could see more of him. My hands floated to his face, taking in his lips with mine. I caressed his shoulders, forearms, chest taking off his shirt in the process. Synchronized, with me in the lead, we went into the bed, on top of the covers. I wanted to see all of him, have all of him and not let anything else, even the thin blanket take that away from me. Stan became the foundation I was going to penetrate. I felt he was what I needed and wanted, the attention I was not getting from home, society and a piece I did and did not realize was missing. Catching myself, I stopped realizing we were both completely nude, me on top of him and about to do something that could never be taken back. I pushed my hands to the side of his forearms, looked down at his body and then rested my eyes on his face.

"Babe..."

"Stan, I... I dont know what came over me... Well actually... Stan, I do not want to use you for my emptiness. I care about you too much to physically and... whatever I was going to do, use you as emotional medicine." I put my hand on his cheek and looked down at him. Stan took my hand within both of his, moved it to his lips and kissed my inner palm. His eyes then started to fill with tears, then mine filled with tears. "Besides, I dont want to... hurt... you." Then Stan quipped, "Not from what I have seen, hon." I was put to pause then fell on top of him in shared, loud laughter. We then wrapped our arms around one another. Nose to nose there was silence, then kissing and caressing.

Stan pulled my head to his neck as I continued to feel and travel with my hands between his hips and forehead. I became lost within this passionate freedom, not realizing I was inside of him until a few seemingly pleasurable straining, moans were released from Stan's turned away face. His eyes closed, concentrating on the moment. I was terrified and looked down on him positioning myself on my palms, still over and within him, Stan pulled me down to his warming heat and aura, kissing my neck and the entire side of my face. His arms were my surrender, as he breathed out for me to continue.


	6. Chapter Four Part One

When I was bigger people thought a certain way about me, now that I'm slimmer, people feel a certain way about me... Just can't win...! I feel that is why I 'am reminiscing so on our relationship, I never thought I would be this size, but still full of the same emotions after all these decades, with of course more wisdom!

Stan had another stroke the other day, scared another few pounds off me. The cigars, cigarettes, drinking, fast food and fast times are catching up and taking their pound of flesh literally from the both of us.

We dont like to bring up the past, good or bad, the two of us live within our lives.

Sometimes, I suppose, the heart likes to remember. I realize we are old men now, I have felt old at times before, but it is a reality now, especially with me forgetting things, slurred words at times, scaring Lucille, Stan others and myself.

The doctor said I could lose motor skills, movement and memories.

Take away everything else, but not my mind.

Lets remember some more, let us iron out things. I will write and remember for the both of us, Stanley. I wish you would allow me to. Even here I respect your wishes. Your wishes are mine.

I know and you know. That is all that counts, right Stanley?

That is something I had to learn. Go and let go, be and let be, especially when it came to Stan and coming to what were developing.

There was, or rather is a picture, however as the saying goes, a picture can say a thousand words, so can different people being together. Society will say and believe things, have their thoughts and imaginations, even Stan will disagree with what we are or aren't. I just leave it to him. Being with him is enough.

After that situation learning about Buster and what happened that night, Stan and I became like puppies or bouncing bunnies. All we wanted to do was spend time with one another, nonetheless it wouldnt "look right". Stanley and I had a understanding that even though we were starting to share life together in a way, we still had separate lives, wives, hobbies and responsibilities.

Everyone saw two fellas trading their activities with one another. Stan golfing, Ollie fishing, the two of us going to Catilina with our wives and they would be right.

They are right, especially with the pictures everyone saw how could they be wrong? However, there are pictures that they will never see, along with the ones engraved on the heart and mind between us.

I loved sharing the swimming pool with little Lois and Stan. It was as if one of our movies came to life and we were raising her together.

Stan wasn't the strongest swimmer or at least pretended not to be. He would have me "help" him in the pool, joking around, grabbing on me right in front of our wives, to the point where the girls stopped coming over the weekends and it was me, Stan and Lois most of time. Lois would leave early on Sunday, Stan and her would stay the entire weekend but Stan would stay into Monday sometimes. Imagine my shock when I opened the door one Monday and saw Mr. Keaton standing at my door.

He was dressed as if on some yachting holiday, in all whites, slicked hair and a face to match. Stan came a close distance behind me dripping wet from either the pool or shower. Somehow he had to find the smallest towel in the house that I even did not know I had possession. Both Buster and I heads turned to the gent, me staring daggers and tight face hoping to gain enough clairvoyance to Stan that he would run into another room. Buster slightly leaned to the side looking into the house with a sheepish smirk.

"Oh, Good afternoon, Buster!" Stan said with false innocence and a wave.

"Yes, it is..." Buster replied under his breath.

"Stan! Would you go somewhere with yourself?!" I snapped.

"Don't worry, Babe-bee, Its nothing I havent seen before." Answered Keaton.

I was about to reply to either Stan or Buster when the short comedian passed me and made his way into my home!

I was taken a back how Stan could just easily talk to Buster with the only thing between them was a damp towel, Busters outfit and light conversation. My house servant at the time caught on and asked if she could make lunch.

The three of us had a light lunch by the pool. I will admit it was uneasy for me to see the two of them together as if they were on a date. What about me? What about it being my home and it being our time?

After what seemed like years, Buster left only after a little over a hour or so. It took everything I had not to slam the door. Stan was dressed by now as I rushed passed him already smoking a cigarette, I went into my bedroom, slammed the door and went rooting through my nightstand for more.

I could hear Stan's slow footsteps, heavy with what sounded like a guilty resolution. I got up and turned away from him, sitting on the other side of my bed, facing the window. My eyes darted and blinked away and to him, only seeing is hands in his pockets and the floor.

"Babe-"

"It's my house, dammit!" I snapped. "Not the studio, not a restaurant on the boulevard, My home!"

"I agree, but what were we supposed to do? Shoo him away so he could run back and-"

I stood up with a stomp, not making even eye contact with him. It was admittedly the angriest I had ever been with him to date. I do not think I ever became more frustrated, I hated that.

"Babe, I don't know how or why he showed up here. I certainly didn't tell him to come over. I will talk to Buster later on and tell him to call or send word first before popping up anywhere. Other than that, you know we have different circles, the only thing that matters is the circle we are in together."

"I know, Stanley, but... My house...? I just wanted it to be between us. For our thoughts, hopes, dreams and family. At least the illusion of one... If I can not dream in my own home, where can I dream?"

I turned to Stan with tears in my eyes. He took the cigarette from my hanging hand, put it in the ash tray on the bed table behind my internally sobbing body, then he dropped his face and torso into my frame.

I could feel him breath in and out maybe trying to give our souls resuscitation. My arms naturally wrapped around Stan life a leaf growing on a branch. His hands caressed me. Our faces met in saddened smiles. I realized that he felt the same without saying anything. That is the beauty of what we had and still have.

Stan started to kiss my lips with both of us standing in the window. I tried talking but was drowned out in the kidnapping of his mouth on mine. Stan embraced me like a vice leaving only my eyes and one arm free to take care of the curtains and window.

As I was closing the thin curtain, I saw Keaton in his car, across the street. For the quickest yet slowest moment our faces met as Stan's lips let go of mine and went into my neck with his syphon kisses and hands under my shirt. After closing the curtain my hand went onto Stan's shoulder then down his arm trying to cool the mans wants, then suddenly, we both heard heavy honking, what sounded like banging and slight angry, muffled yelling. Stan and I paused, looked at one another and listened. We heard nothing within the few seconds or minute of pause.

I woke up to a dim lit room, it was late afternoon, going into evening. My eyes opened to the back of Stan's head and shoulders. I snuggled up to the back of him, rubbing at his shoulder and kissing the lower part of the back of his neck. Just then I realized it must of been Buster having a fit in his car. I shook Stan awake and told him of my fears. Stan yawned out it didnt matter what Buster saw or did not see and that he didnt care, but we had better be more careful other places. In our homes, we belonged to one another, come what may.

I dont know if you can understand, receiver. It is not that it was purely sexual, lustful or even passionate, it was, it is just a need to be with one another. All we did that afternoon was embrace, kiss and lay down. Would it be strange to say a physical and emotional understanding? Our relationship really is not sexual, even though, well... It happened in moments.

Most of my understanding is that I just cannot understand what we feel, what we are, we just are. The other part is that, well, Stan wont let me say. I think he feels if it were to be said it would be like a curse. Not because we are two men, but because the both of us haven't had luck when uttered.


	7. Chapter Four Part Two

Stan doesn't want the public to know him and Ida moved to a small place. He wants some privacy and rest after that short scary stroke. We made a deal, with all people, Hal Roach Jr.! Something about fairytales an' whatnot. It's funny, 'cause no one liked Babes in Toyland when it came out and now they want us to basically make a show centered around similar stories? Fickle people.

Stan has many thoughts. A man with a filled brain such as his, it is necessary to have space and needs met. The studio let him go along to bars, clubs and with other women, notably that French actress, Alice. Everyone knew we spent time together, but Hal and the investors "gave us space" and had us do other things with other people so it wouldn't "look a certain way". We already had different hobbies, however we shared our hobbies and time together when we could.

It was 1938... A terrible year. Stan's brother died from a freak accident at the dentist, Ruth and him were arguing more, Alice just gave him what he wanted and Hal was about to kick him out of the studio.

Stan and I hadn't seen one another in almost a month and a half, 5 or 6 weeks. He nearly scared the soul out of my body. All I heard was a car horn honking, over and over. At first I thought I was dreaming, then my servant woke me up telling me Stan was in the driveway parked sideways in a car. He rarely drove, so I knew it was something serious.

Jumping up in just my underwear and holding close a thrown on robe, I ran to the outside of the house, waved my free hand at him, which for some reason, made him honk more and beckon me with his free arm. For about a good loud, honking, 30 or so seconds we beckoned to each other. I surrendered and went over.

I didnt know if I was entering a car or a unwashed bar. Booze and vomit perfumed the upholstery. Before I could close the door, Stan tore off at a scary speed, parking at the side of the road only a few blocks from the house.

"They are trying to tear us apart, Babe. Hal gave me my walking papers..."

"What-Stan, what are you-"

"I'm no longer a employee at the studio. Not wars, wives, bandits, but a movie studio..."

"Stan..."

"A movie studio broke us up..."

"Stan! I'm right here..."

"He said that I wasn't good for the studio, you or anyone. That I just need a break on a sandy island somewhere. DAMMIT HAL! ALL THE YEARS I GAVE YOU!"

"Stan! Stan!..."

"Babe... What am I good for? I broke hearts... The mother of my children... A drunkard... All these thoughts and feelings, that's all I know, thats all I act on".

"So I'm not worth anything to you...? Little Lois doesnt adore you...?"

Stan sat there with his hand on the wheel. His head dropped as he started to sob. I jumped out the car and went to the passenger seat. Stan yelled at me and asked if I was leaving. Wrapping my arms around the man, he soon released what seemed like decades of emotion in vibration and tears, within my arms.

We woke up in the car a few hours later with a police officer tapping the window. I popped up in a fright, quickly collected myself and shook Stan awake. We waved at him, nodded my head and patted Stan's shoulder to drive to back to the house. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Stan's then separated wife, Virginia Ruth.

Her arms were crossed tightly as she stared daggers with us driving to my home.

We both stepped out the car slowly, with our heads down like in one of our movies as Ruth came to us. To this day I never asked Stanley if he was mad at me for leaving him to fend for himself as I walked into my abode. I feel kind of bad, nonetheless even though they were separated, they were still a married couple and it was not my place to get in between their relationship.

I thought he was mad because he didn't come over that weekend or the next after that. We met up for our last filming together, doing foreign versions of the movie we filmed before Stan got the boot. Stan had seemed a bit on edge that day. Everyone knew what had happened between him and Roach, and that we were loyal to one another with or without contract.

The both of us were heavy smokers, but Stan smoked more than a train that day, saying absolutely nothing to me between scenes. Everyone shook hands with Stan, and Stanley went hugging up the girls, making Ruth mad. I thought she was babysitting him. Even though they were separated at the time, she was a good gal and is still friends with him and Lois to this day. I know she will always love Stan.

I suppose no one had anything better to do than to draw off and target old, Babe. At least that is the way I felt.

Stan left me a typed written letter, like he would sometimes after filming. I burnt it as instructed every time. It told me to meet him in the place where we 'rolled and laughed'. It was that backlot trailer.

I left the studio and came back in the black of night, for the life of me I cannot remember what time it was, but it was before 11pm. Before knocking on the door, I heard shuffling around and noticed rose petals leading up to the trailer. The widows had thin red curtains, the sound of soft music could be heard. I figured he wanted to talk with me in a "comfortable" setting. A smile weighed heavy on my face as I knocked, but that would soon be washed when heard Stan yell, 'no, wait'!

Stan opened the door with his clothes disheveled and face that would of gave milk a run for its money.

As I tried to step on the last stair, he put out his open hand as to stop me. Stanley did his best to fill up the doorway, but he was never the thickest man. From his right side and behind him, I could see what he was trying to hide. I felt Stan's eyes freeze on me as I froze into a disappointed shock.

"Babe... Babe, listen... I can-"

Before Stan could place one finger on me, Mr. Keaton came up from the bed and wrapped his arms around Stan, laying himself on his back. Buster rested his head on Stan's, smiling like a shark with a steak.

The tears filled my eyes, as my slow head shake at him turned to a rapid pace. I turned and walked quickly away hearing Stan shout my name. I could barely hear Buster say "If you two aren't together, then why is he concerned with you?"

I heard the familiar footsteps run up behind me, with the predictable apologetic voice calling "Babe, Babe!"

Snapping forward to Stanley, I stopped him from coming any further. We have a connection, he knew not to come anywhere near me and knew when I was serious. I never felt so alone. Like, I lost my soul, as if I was a walking, empty body.

"Babe, would you listen?" Stan pleaded.

I looked at Stan, then at Buster leaning in the doorway in nothing but a hand held together shirt, gray wool tall socks and heavy smirk as he looked on at us. Nodding my head, I waved to Buster and told him to take care of him. I blinked my tears out with a few sniffles and could hear the tears translate in Stanley's voice. He rushed up to me before I could fully turn away.

"Babe, please, Babe, Please!" Stan pleaded and cried.

I put my hands in my pants pockets, looked forward and away then sighed. I wiped my eye and nose, tapped my foot and shook my head, putting my hands back in my pants pockets.

"Babe... I had no idea he was going to be here. He just came to the trailer. I thought Buster wished to talk about something else and then all of a sudden he started to take off my clothes. I did not do anything with him, I swear! He was just in there for literally 15 or so minutes."

"But you did not stop him or kick him out..." I answered in a low tone.

"I was trying to convince him that I was with you, that I AM with you."

I nodded my head and told him it was ok, without looking at Stanley. Then I turned to him, placed my hands on his shoulders and looked deeply into his reddened blue eyes.

I absorbed him with my eyes, breathed in and out deeply through my nose.

"It didn't have to be this way...-"

"Babe, please,-no... NO, I SWEAR!"

"You are a good father, creative and one of the smartest men I have ever met. I will always care for you as a person and professional partner. However this is too much."

"Look, Babe.-"

"Stan... It is too much..."

There was a pause like time was rushing and stopped. Stan's mouth was agape as he realized I had put my foot down. He then snapped away from me, walked halfway back to the trailer and then turned towards me.

"That's it then, yeah? No Laurel and Hardy nor Stan and Babe...? IS THAT IT!? HUH!?"

I stood there for a moment, shook and nodded my head softly and then went to him. He stepped away, but I caught him with my hand.

Taking Stan's face into my hands, I leaned in and kissed him lightly and lovingly. His face vibrated in warm muffled tears. I kissed him as if giving back all the feelings that he planted within me... Or at the least tried to. I released my lips from his and then placed my palms lightly on Stanley's shoulders. His head was down from what I can remember, he was breathing so fast I thought he was going to make himself pass out.

"Arthur... Arthur... Goodnight..." I told him.

HIs crying became more vocal as we both knew I was out. I called over Buster with a wave and he took the sobbing man away. I stood there until they both walked into the trailer, then I was on my way with a floating, empty calm.

A broken heart is like a broken mirror, it can be mended, glued, what have you, but the cracks will always be visible.


	8. Chapter Five Part One

Lucille, I know one day you will read this, if you are not already. You are the angel of my life coming to me in a deep darkness, an guiding light out of the forest. My partner, wife, best friend and kindred spirit. A true blessing, wrapped in such a beautiful embrace of love, commitment, understanding, your arms and smile. I love you, truly dear.

I hadn't had the chance to tell Stan that we were dating, he was going through a divorce, Hal canned him and then... He was in a confusing situation with Buster that I wished not to be apart of.

I did not wish to argue, nonetheless I walked away from him, as painful as it was, because I felt it was giving a child under punishment candy and carnival tickets. When you... I wanted him to better himself, with himself.

It was scary with him being married to that first Russian gal, Illena? He really wanted nothing to do with her, it was a drunken marriage. He thought she was somehow good company. Ruth had a fit and stormed the hotel where they were screaming of him being a polygamist. So angry she forgot they had divorced a few days before, if not the very day before.

Stan is desperately afraid to be alone. I laugh because I can say whatever else about him on paper or out loud, shucks, I can call him the Easter Bunny, however I can't... Well, Stan... I shalt. You told me to put it away, keep it.

I missed Stan at our wedding, I also felt if we were more social that he would not have drunk away '39 through '40. We cannot, nor should we let ourselves reminisce on events in our lives that are far gone with unpleasant crops. The only thing we can and should do is live meaningful, thoughtful, charitable lives that help one another through kindness as much as we can spare, then after that, give more!

I called Stan after he remarried Ruth. Figuring he had come to his senses we arranged a dinner date for the four of us. It was a cool autumn night. Nervousness replaced the blood in my veins, gulping every few minutes. Being away such a while from you socially, we had only made our last movie with Roach just a few months ago. I hope the fans never catch on how cold it was between us in the 'Blockheads', 'Saps at Sea' and 'Chumps...' movies.

Ruth opened the front door of your fort. I'm not a claustrophobic, but the house, being in circled within those walls, Lucille. Stan loves gardening, fishing, feeding birds, and for him to shut off from the world. He and Lois said it was to keep away from Illena, however, we both know Stan is a complicated man. Illena disappeared without a trace, I know he wasn't immediantely worried about her. Those walls were a stone security blanket if you ask me.

"Are you coming in?" Ruth barked. One hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip. Her eyes were as cold as the surface of the moon. She mostly stared at you, Lucille.

The both of us went in, I felt you and I were going into the lions den. The door closed heavy behind us, with Ruth saying, it closes firmly.

The dinner was so quiet. My known and new jokes fell through the floor with a few smirks and nods from Stan, then Ruth giving a side-eye and a even smaller lip alteration.

The night went on at the patio. You had such a beautiful garden, Stanley. Stanley, Stanley, how did your garden grow? When I get better Stan, I think that would make a great sketch!

Ruth seemed very uncomfortable. She is a good woman and loves you, I'm sure always will, Stan, nonetheless we all knew, she knew it was a mistake to get hitched again. Lucille took Ruth asking for a tour of the home saying you and I needed time to speak. She was right.

Swallowing the rest of my avid fear, I turned toward Stan, whom was sitting across from me on that lovely wicker table that I still have outside. You didn't look at me, Stan. I knew his game, trying to fish me in, make me apologize. It was not that night, was it, Stanley?

I settled back into a front sitting position, lacing my fingers together, I rested my palms a top of my belly.

"Dinner was lovely, Stan." I said looking forward. "Did Ruth cook it? A servant?"

"You did..." He replied.

I was taken a back for a moment, snapped my gaze to Stan, then darted my eyes down. Twiddling my fingers and nodding my head, I realize what he met.

Stan and I have a language of our own. I do not know If I recollected this before, however it is something that I treasure greatly between us. We speak in so many ways, even when we are apart, we still speak, without a phone. Our souls call one another. We are linked. I know you realize this, Lucille.

"So it was-"

"Yes, Babe... I thought it would be fitting. You were visiting. What of it?"

"Well, it came out-the recipe you and yours prepared, was excellent."

I looked at him with a smile.

Stan gave me a Ruth-ian side eye as he stood up, then turned away from me lighting a cigarette. This made me shoot out of the chair, fists clenched, lips tightened and rolled in. I caught myself before getting angry. it was his home, with his wife and my wife.

"Stan. I hope that you will come over for dinner sometime. Little Lois asks me if you come over. I don't lie to the girl. I tell her you are up to something, like writing. You should know her mother drops her off to swim, right?"

"I knew it..." Stan said in a heavy, low breath.

"Well, yes, I thought little Lois would tell you. it has been a while... Too long. Look, Stanley."

Suddenly Stan spun to me as if his heels were greased. He had the most angry, frightening face, to this day I had ever seen on him.

"The both of you are getting along fine... That's what it is?! Talking about me, my wrongs, what I did, did not do, should of done?"

"Stan... Stan, no. I have rarely brought you up with Big Lois. Little Lois brings you up the most. I would never, ever disrespect you in front of your child nor the mother of the girl... Stan... How..."

Stan looked down, then his head dropped. I shook my head, rolled back my tongue, then turned to leave. Stan called me quietly, as not to make a scene, briefly reaching out his hand to grab at me. I stopped, turned to him. took his hand and shook it in a friendly way as between gentlemen.

"The offer still stands, Stanley. Congratulations on your commitment to Ruth. She loves you. Take care of one another."

"Yes, Oliver..." Stan nodded. "Thank you. Congratulations on your marriage also."

It put me in a desert of wind, blowing, burning sand and freezing snow on open wounds. He had not called me Oliver since the first day we met, Lucille, even then He called me Babe.


	9. Chapter Five Part Two

I wasn't in California for very long. The beginning days from Jacksonville were rough. I was so happy in Florida, nonetheless fate called from the West.

You were taller, fit and thin. I walked in when they were putting on your white face paint. Everyone knew that you were apart of the Karno group and had associated with Chaplin. I didn't care, everyone else did. I always saw you as yourself. Maybe, that's the problem.

The girl sat me across from Stan and started plastering on that ghost white face makeup. He reached his hand out as the makeup girls did their surgery. I chucked as a found your hand somehow in the chaos.

I hated yanking you around in that movie, in all of our movies. I didnt stay at all for the tea you offered, Stanley. I was too excited to move in to my new residence.

People always wanted more of a answer of our first meeting. There was nothing to it. We met, did the movie, had good greetings, then parted.

However, seeing each other on set and walking down the boulevards, we struck up a decorum.

Our first "date" was at the Musso & Franks Grill. It started out with mostly movie tricks, business and gags, then it loosened to hobbies, relationships and other pleasantries.

You hated when I would rush off to golf, and like any paranoid spouse, one day I found you at the course, unannounced. I bought a fishing pole only to discover it was too advanced for a novice like myself.

The last time we fished together, before you divorced Ruth the first time, we went to a river so rapid, I thought Neptune himself had it out for us.

"Don't you trust me, Babe? Look-here, sit back on daddies lap, scoot."

"Really, Stan?!" I laughed loudly. "Why here? there's fish in the calmer lake."

"There's good Salmon fishing here and they give a nice fight. Just me and the elements. Listen to the water, Babe."

The water was louder than we could talk. Rushing rivers helped with his rushing thoughts. Something about being within the wilds of nature calms and gives any man a renaissance.

I leaned into his chest and softly got locked into Stan's instructional arms.

That night, we laid on the grass, next to the boat. The boat was not the Ida May, but some simple, small river craft with a motor. We faced one another, leaning on our sides, tops off, feeling the brisk night wind. Our hands met in the middle.

Lucille. You can I are kindred spirits and you are one of my best friends. Stan and I are cut from the same cloth, with this understanding that doesnt need words... All we need is one another.

The only way I can try to describe it, would be as God was forming the universe, he created a cloth made of life. We are all from that cloth. The creator then cut it up into odd and even pairs, some matching, some not so much. Stan and I are from one piece. I beleive you are too, darling, however, him and I are the bulk of it, matching closer to one another in uneven pieces that fit together in different arrangements.

Along the walk of life on this planet, living can eat away at this cloth, and the people we meet can either take more or repair it, giving strings or whole patches from themselves.

This is what I minimally conjure to explain what Stanley and I do for one another, since I cannot go into details.

He has my heart, Lucille.

Heaven wont be a Laurel and Hardy bed. It will be me and him, laying next to a river, with our fingers laced, falling asleep, waking up to one another and having a slightly bizarre fish fillet, and scrambled eggs, with bacon, breakfast.

As relationships go, however, the more used and comfortable you get with someone, the more you plant into them. Your hopes, dreams, nightmares and poisons.

I should burn that wicker table.

Lucille asked me what was the matter as I rushed to the bedroom after we came home from that uncomfortable dinner. I struggled with taking off my shoes, popped off a lace, then burst into tears. All Lucille could do was hold me. I told her I didn't wish to talk about it with her. Stan was being Stan.

The next morning, he called me.

"Babe, I realize that my emotions can go ahead of the horse. It was me, not you. Ruth and I aren't doing so well and-"

"Stan, I know. I thought that you could just handle you for a while. I'm a married man, happily married. Lucille is good to me, isn't a drunk and is loyal. I'm going to concentrate on my life, my home. None of us have all the answers, Stan, I know I don't, but what I think you should do is stop being Stan... Get in touch with Arthur. I'm curious if I ever met him."

"I wonder too... Babe, I don't-"

"Oh, it's not 'Oliver' today?"

"You're always Babe to me."

"I hope so... That's good to know."

"Listen, Babe, I thought we could do some publicity shots at the Fox studio. After that we can go shopping."

"What about your Alimony, and my debts?"

"On me, Babe... And I mean the shopping too." He joked.

"I'll think about it, Stan." I sighed. "I have some meetings coming, you know that. Then Lucille's mother is coming for the first time since the wedding..."

"Babe... Have things really changed that much...?"

"I'm right here, Stan. I always have been. But,... I do not know if you have. I can see glimmers of you in your embrace, kisses and journeying to sleep with you. Then your emotions take a spin and everyone is buckshot targets."

"Yes, yes I know."

"Give it a few weeks, Stan. Call Arthur and tell him to call me back."

"What if he doesn't pick up the phone, or isn't at home? I haven't spoken to the fella in a while." Stan chuckled.

"I will accept, embrace and take whoever you are. It will be bumpy, and I won't ever turn away from you. Being away from you is like tearing off skin from the flesh. I feel exposed and bleeding. I wish you were here right now."

"I miss you too, Babe."

"Lucille is good to me, I made vows with her. You and I have unspoken vows. She comes first... I come first to her."

"Distance does make the heart grow fonder... I understand, Babe."

"It's not as if we didn't have space in seeing each other before. I think it is good for the both of us. I dont know about you and Ruth, but please give yourself time to find what you need to do to be more stable, Stan. No one is perfect, but at the same time I wish not to be a punching pillow, but a rest. You're not the only one with anger and past regrets roaming within the skull."

It was only two days after that phone call and I was up the wall. We saw one another at Fox, did some practice runs, then immediately went our separate ways.

Usually after Stan and I would do work at the studio we would call one another and plan the next step or some lunch activity for later on. That call never happened.


	10. Chapter Six Part One

"I can't believe he finished this, Stanley. It looked so expensive."

"It's supposed to be the 'happiest place on Earth', Babe. Ida and I thought it would be fun and good for you and I to stretch our legs. Walt invited limited guests before the public opening. It's a bit of a trip, so I hired a driver. I don't wish for Ida to drive all that way."

"Stan, you have her drive a long distance to see me!"

"This is a leisurely invitation, Babe… There is nothing that will separate us for long ever again. I promised you that."

"Don't get upset, Stanley."

Oliver sits on the sunny apartment porch with Stan as Ida and Lucille go packing their luggage. The boys hadn't had time to themselves in years. Holidays, business meetings, fan meet ups always involved others.

No matter how much they enjoyed these things, Stan and Oliver wanted and needed time with themselves, especially after they both had strokes, the exhaustive Atoll K film, the 'This is your life' invasion and Stan's diabetic diagnoses.

Oliver puts his hand on Stan's shoulder, his head slowly turns with a light smile. Breathing out of his nose, Babe scooted closer. Stan immediantely turns to his partner, fussing over his movements.

"Be careful, Babe, don't pinch yourself. You always pinch yourself!"

"Not all the time, Stanley, just a few times here and there. What? I can't be close to you anymore?"

Stan does a slow double take looking at Babe through the corner of his eyes. Oliver smiles heavier, taking Stan's right arm into his embrace, then laying his head on Laurel's shoulder.

"I never needed much, Stanley. I never knew… I never thought I was allowed to…"

"The most important thing is, that we are here, hon'. Together…"

"We haven't been alone in over a decade. Now it's to some fun park?" Laughs Oliver.

"Why not?" Stan smiles lightly.

"Do you know who else is going to be there? Walt was friends with, Hal too, you know."

"So be it, Babe. We are supposed to be working with his son soon anyway. The contract is clearing nicely. But enough work-"

Oliver sat up looking at Stan wide eyed. "Enough work?!" Hardy gasps and laughs.

"Honestly, Babe."

"Hey, Ida! Ida! What did you do with our Stanley?!" Oliver yelled into the apartment.

"What is wrong?! What is it going on?" Ida inquires as she walks to the two men. Stan, unamused, crosses his legs, shaking them and turns his head away. Lucille walks up behind Ida and asks about the situation also. Babe fills them in. Ida kisses her teeth, waves down at the men a few times then goes back to packing.

"Really, Babe, you and Stan have to play around before even getting to the play park!" Lucille chuckles slightly annoyed and amused. 'Stan…"

"…Yes, Lucille…?"

Lucille puts a hand on Oliver's shoulder. Her and His eyes meet, then she looks at Stan. Babe could feel her serious emotion as he looks on at his wife, placing a hand on top her fingers.

"Take care of him." Lucille says in quiet concern.

"Lucille, really–" Stan Starts to snap.

"He is a 65 year old man who has had strokes, lost every bit of weight he has had and the two of you are going to run up and down a amusement park at your age?!"

"We were invited… If you do not want him to go, last minute, discuss it with him." Stan says crossing his arms.

"Lucille… I will be ok… However, if you–" Oliver says in a low voice.

Mrs. Hardy pats Oliver on his shoulder, kisses his head and sighs. "I love you, Oliver. It will be fine. Stan has taken care of you for decades, along with me. Just wifely, worries!"

"Lucille–" Babe started but was interrupted by Stan.

"Lucille…" Stan says turning in her direction. "There are many medical facilities, I'm diabetic myself. We will look out for one another as we always do… As we always did."

"Thank you, Stan." Lucille nods.

Mrs. Hardy goes back to packing with Ida, whom took over Oliver's suitcase. Lucille, kisses her teeth, sighs at Ida and sits down frustrated.

"What is wrong with you now, Lady Hardy?" Ida asks as she is folding Babe's underwear. Lucille pops up, snatches her husbands underwear from Mrs. Laurel and takes over packing.

"You're not concerned about your diabetic husband?"

"Of course, I love him! However, I know there is not'ing can I do about his blood sugar problem, except take care of him. Jus' like nothing I can do about his emotions for your husband."

Lucille stops folding, She looks down tightening her grip on Oliver's shirt. Ida takes the shirt from Lucille, making Mrs. Hardy blink wildly, shake her head and sit down.

"Are you Oliver's wife?"

"…Ida… Yes… on paper… I'm committed to him, lay down with him, sickness and health…"

"Till death does you part, yes?"

"Yes, I just–"

"You choose the man. He choose you. Whatever Stan and Oliver does wit' themselves, is wit' themselves. Stan lays with me, we talk, laugh, eat, sleep, companionship. What else can we do. He is happy, I 'am happy. Big brain needs big love."

"Oliver isn't big anymore, Ida."

"Not what I meaning! Not every man is made the' same. Not every man can be… tie down. He makes me happy, I make him happy. What else is there?"

Lucille nods in agreement. With teary eyes, Lucille, stands and starts helping Ida packing again.

"Shape up. It been years with you and 'Elephant movie man'." Ida snaps. Lucille chuckles,

"You're right, Ida. He is my husband… But I do not own him… I never did."

"Who said, I'm wrong…?"

"No, Ida… I agree with you." She sighs

Later on, the hired car arrives for the boys. The wives respectively, hug and kiss their husbands, wishing them a good time.

In the apartment, Ida pours coffee for Mrs. Hardy. She knows the wife is too emotional to drive in the nighttime and offered her to stay the night in the guest room.

Lucille sits at the kitchen table, looking into her coffee. The clouds of cream, swirl and hypnotize her momentarily. Mrs. Hardy takes big gulp as Ida sits across from her.

"Slow it down! Coffee hot!" Ida snaps in concern.

"Thank you, Ida… You have been very gracious with your home. Look, Ida doesn't it get to you–Just a bit?!"

"No! it's funny, I thought it would, but it does not so. Nyea,… nyea…"

"Babe was a mess when they gave their relationship 'time'."

"Oh, is that time when Buster muddy everything? Yea' Stan told me."

"That's right, I never knew what happened, on Stan's side of things. Babe does and he is writing about his life, not to make a book, but to stay sharp. After the doctor told him strokes can mess up your brain he started writing like mad!"

"That is a good thing for you, Babe."

"For someone that doesn't like to bring up the past, he seems eager to write about it…"

Lucille and Ida sit quietly for a few moments. Lucille with a burning question. Tapping her cup of coffee and slowly darting her eyes around, Mrs. Hardy lifts her head up and raises a inquiring brow. Looking down and away from Ida Lucille gulps.

"How was it between you, Stan and Buster? I heard from Oliver he still sends Valentine flowers to Stan."

"Yes, he does. I heard he sent some to Oliver also."

"Oliver put a moratorium on that! He thought it was thoughtful at first mixed with shock, however it is what the cards would say. 'The lover of my lover. Since he loves you, I love you too.'"

Lucille chuckles, kisses her teeth and sighs.

"Stan explained everything to me before we marry an' why the importance of Oliver."


	11. Chapter Six Part Two

Morning came with a full, hearty breakfast. Lucille had known Ida for years, however never noticed how particular and dedicated Mrs. Laurel was to everything she did.

She could see why Stan married the woman, nonetheless, Mrs. Hardy couldn't bring herself to be so free with her husband Ida was. At the same time, in a way, she did.

Lucille always knew Oliver and Stan were very close, a wife and partner knows things. She repressed questions, shared her time with him and allowed him to be happy. Lucille only really put her foot down and got upset over Oliver's health and gambling.

Two men could be close. Sitting next to one another, sometimes holding hands, kissing all over each others face, constantly embracing. It was a pure relationship and admirable. Why not have a close friend outside of a wife, is what she told herself. A wife cant do everything, is what Lucille figured and what Ida also said in no less words. It still bothered her, the thoughts of them having "alone time" one or two times a year, the other troubles with women, swirling, racing, clouding her head, her brain her thoughts.

Suddenly, Lucille is startled by Ida slapping the table as she sat down.

"Hey! I ask if you wanted butter with toast!" Ida snapped.

Mrs. Hardy blinked a few times, shook her head, apologized and nodded. She didnt eat much bread, but when in Rome.

"Babe, is ok. Stan is a genius that loves that man. I know that face, it used to be my face with Stan also when we first started talking with one another." Mrs. Laurel remarks.

"Yes, I know." Lucille nodded. She took a sip of her strong coffee and sighed. "Ida, did Stan tell you about Babe? His feelings for him?"

"Besides his girl Lois, grandchildren, and regrets of no sailing, Babe is almost all he talks about. Wonderful memories, how they stuck together like glue during movie days. He regrets little, has few for Oliver."

"Regrets?! Babe is a sweet man! What, Stan said Babe did something?" Says Lucille.

"Other than him wanted Babe to be by his side instead of the 'Bad' Russian wife. Just wanted more time." Replies Ida.

"Oliver thought it was the right choice for Stan to iron things out. He was lost within himself. When Babe and others in his life tried to talk to Stan, the man would bite and bark at everyone. Babe was absolutely ghostly. It's like… He would never tell me… I knew Babe missed him."

"Oh, yes, that time, around when Oliver met you. Stan said it not last long, it still felt he had gapping hole behind his ribs."

"Well what I can tell you, Ida, Babe was a mess. He always said I make him happy, however…"

"Stan and Babe are for each other." Ida finishes.

Lucille sighed quietly, nodded and looked down at her coffee.

"They are happy, Ida… A duty of the wife, partner, spouse is to make sure that you help in the happiness of the spouse. So,… I'm satisfied." Lucille laughs lightly and sadly.

Mrs. Laurel pats Mrs. Hardy's hand. She then tells the solemn woman to eat breakfast.

A quiet morning in a hotel room, within Anaheim. Two elderly men are waking up lost, entangled within each other arms. The more slender, slightly shorter man rubs his partners nose before peeling open his own eyes a bit more to see a blurred, fussy vision of his companions face. The man smiles lightly, blinking away the sleepiness in his pupils, then presses his lips on his partners lips repeatedly. The taller partner shakes his head before realizing he was being washed in kisses from his bedtime companion. He chuckles, laughs and then retaliates by pulling the slender man into his torso, burying his face in the cup of his neck, suckling and nibbling at will. Laugher and a struggle comes from the smaller partner. He then starts tickling his tall bed fellow in his arm pits and pinching his sides.

Knowing every sensitive part of one another's body, the struggle went on for quite a while.

Later on, late morning now, the two men get dressed in semi formal attire according to the instructions of the shorter male. Putting on his other shoe while sitting on the bed, the man looks at his partner, whom is fixing his tie in the dresser mirror.

"Stanley…?"

"Yes, Babe… What is it, dear?"

"I thought this was going to be a relaxing trip. We are almost dressed to the nine." Inquiries Babe, as he leans back on his hands.

"It has been a minute since we had time to ourselves. I wanted to mark it with good memories! Being dressed to the seven, some sight-seeing and enjoying the sunshine." replies Stan.

"Alright, Stanley." Smiles Oliver.

The two men are greeted with a golf cart outside of the hotel. The driver takes them to a restaurant where other famous guests are seated and arriving. They walk past and are greeted by some familiar and some not so recognized faces as they are going to a privately arranged outside balcony setting.

Babe walks past the table, puts his hands on the railing and was surprised that they were on the third or forth floor of the building.

"It is so vast, Stanley."

Stan closes the balcony door behind him, wraps his arms around Olivers torso, kisses the back of his neck and between his lower shoulder blades and then rests his head on his upper back. Oliver reaches his arm around to embrace Stan. The two look at one another, kiss lightly a few times, then look out on the amusement park.

Within 20 or so minutes, breakfast is presented to the two. Stan and Oliver feed one another, reminisce and laugh. They always harvested laughter from nowhere, within one another. Laughter, joy and comfort.

After breakfast, the two were driven to a museum within the grounds of Disney. Some of the famed studio artifacts, from over the decades are on display. Oliver looped his arm through Stan's as they walked together. Some of the other guest stared, but most ignored the two close men.

Suddenly Oliver feels someone wrap their arm around his free arm. He snaps his head to that direction and sees Buster Keaton, stone face and frogged eyed.

"Fancy meeting you here, Babe-bee." Buster teased. "I've missed you, you, know. We aren't very social. "

"Stan has his friends, I have mine. We don't mix socially." Oliver says in a quiet, startled, tone.

"That is right, Buster. You know where I 'am, where my home and rest is. I did not invite you to tease Babe, by the way." Stan says to Buster.

"Invited?!" Oliver snapped loudly.

Everyone in the immediate area paused. Oliver looked around, did his famous smile and a invisible tie-twiddle to everyone. The room soon went back to order.

"Stan… You said this was just for us… It was a retreat…" Oliver starts in a whisper, tearfully with a slight lip tremble. "You–"

"It-is… There are some things I wished to clear out." Stan replied.

Oliver blinked a few times, looked forward and wondered what else could there be. The two agreed to never bring up the past and live for the day, spending as much time with each other as possible. Babe then looked down at Buster, whom was looking at Stan. He felt Babe's eyes on him, blinked a few times, flirtingly, smirked lightly, shrugged and tightened his grip around Mr. Hardy's right arm.

"If you wish to discard him, I'm still available!" Buster mocks.

Oliver shakes his head in disagreement, then lowers it.

"Dammit, Buster!" Stan Snaps quietly toward Keaton.

"No tag-in's?" Buster says raising a hand.

Both Stan and Oliver say 'no' in a slightly loud tone.

"Ok, ok…" Buster replies, wrapping his other arm back around Oliver's.

"And get off him, Buster!" Stan snaps.

"Can I get on you…?" Keaton replies.

Oliver takes his arm out of Keaton's grip and walks off. Stan calls after him.

"Dammit, Buster! It is not about you! If you screw this up!" Says Stan in a stern voice.

"What?" Buster nonchalantly shrugs.

"Babe–BABE!" Stan yells as he walks hurryingly to Oliver, catching up to him. The two men walk out the museum.

"I was just asking." Buster says to himself. He then puts his hands in his pockets, shrugs and starts walking after Stan and Oliver.


	12. Chapter Seven Part One

"Stan... Let me speak with him." Requests Mr. Keaton.

He stood a few feet away from the partners, with Stan's arm wrapped around Babe, the other hand on Babe's lap, both his hands patting and trying to soothe Oliver's racing, deepening thoughts. The two were sitting on a bench in front of a fountain, the mist feeling numb and cool to the both of them.

Stan quickly looked at Buster, then sighed at Babe. He lowered and rolled his head back, finally landing back within Oliver's view. Oliver, laced his fingers together, looking down at them. His lips were tightened and slightly turned in realizing they were at a public event, but mostly within his feelings.

Buster walking up with hands in pants pockets, swallows and sighs.

"May I sit down?"

Stan looks up at Buster, rubbing Babe's back. "It depends on what you are going to say."

"Stan... I'm slightly hurt. We have been... Friends for years, you asked me to talk to him and I will not say why else you wanted me here until you tell him your part. I understand it is something you wished to do and if I didnt care about your feelings I wouldnt have came."

"Buster-" Stan starts.

Buster raises his hand to stop more words from Mr. Laurel. He then sits opposite Mr. Hardy on the edge of the fountain, slightly to his left, behind the bench. Buster puts his hands close to his lips, laces them together in a ball and then drops them between his open lap. Keaton rolls back his eyes and head searching for the words to start. Buster's eyes rests on the back of Babe's grey head.

"Stan... Leave us." Buster demands.

Stan and Oliver look at one another. Oliver lightly smiles with a nod. Stan brushes himself off as he stands up slowly with a groan.

"I wont be far. In fact I will call Ida and then see about the events for tonight." Mr. Laurel states.

Stan leans forward, kisses the top of Oliver's head and looks down at Babe lovely. Stan then snaps his gaze to Buster with a face that could crumble iron, with a nod that was understood between them and then walks away reluctantly.

Babe turns toward Buster halfway on the bench. His eyes at the level of Buster's knees.

"Well... What is it, Buster? And by the way, good morning."

Buster looks down at his watch, crosses his arms on top of his crossed legs, looks at Babe and says, "It's actually past, twelve, honey bunch."

Babe kisses, his teeth, shakes his head and starts to turn away when Buster reaches out his hand, patting on Oliver's shoulder.

"Ok, ok. Look, Stan ask me to be here to talk to you. Both of you hate the past, however, there are things that we feel bad about in our bygone lives. Stan wanted you to know about the time when you weren't talking to him. And what really happened when you... walked in on the two of us in back in the late 30s."

Oliver rolls his head away from Buster, stands up and shakes his head. Buster goes over to Babe, stands in front of him convincing him to sit down. Buster sat a few inches from Oliver, with his ankle on top of his knee, a elbow resting on the back of the bench and the other on Keaton's lap. Keaton scratches at his fingernails on his hanging hand, looking forward.

"I knew that Stan had something planned for you and him. I was steaming with jealously more than a kettle in Satan's kitchen. And so was Ruth."

"Ruth?!" Oliver says in curiosity turning his head to Buster whom nodded.

"Ruth..." replies Buster.

Oliver turns his sight forward, blinks a few times, shakes his head slightly and sighs.

"She knew it was almost the end of their relationship, at least for the first time, and also knew you two were... Are very close. She hired a private investigator, me, to stalk the both of you, mostly Stanley, and found only one-third of the time he said he would be working he actually was. It was either fishing for comfort with another woman or with you. I saw the way he acted with those dames, playful, wild, half drunk. With you... It was kind of like the beginning of his marriage with Lois. He was stable, happy and... Just free..."

Buster nods, then lowers his head with his mouth slightly agape. "You gave him something that no one else did, no matter how hard we-anyone tried... Freedom, comfort, loyalty and love. His wives had tried and so did the mistresses. It was a mix of religion, society standards, the studios, upbringing, and the cherry, of course, him losing his mother on the brink of him becoming a man.

A wife to come home to, some women to have fun, give him a jump, but you. I know for a fact if things were different... It would just be the two of you.

He loves both of his Lois's, the mother of his child, his daughter and grandchildren, every man, most men wish for a bloodline that is theirs, that could also be a apart. What all those women did not have, Oliver... Was you. Whatever you have, Stan needs. And desperately so!"

Later on Buster and Oliver sit outside of a café on Disney grounds, in a private corner. Buster looks down, tapping his expresso, Babe picking at a fruit bowl, with fork in hand.

"Ruth drove me to the studio that night. We sat in the car and waited for Stan to go toward the trailer. according to my connections, I knew that he bought some romantic things, but it was not for his then wife and he never showered any of his girls with such gifts."

Hal Roach Studios, 1938.

"He turned on the lights. There, you see that? All of the other staff left the studio and the gates are locked. You're going to have to use your skills to go over that wall next to the trailer." Ruth said sitting in the drivers seat of a dark car.

Buster looked over Ruth, then at the wall she wanted him to scale. It wasn't winter, however the wind around them was cold. The darkness of the night grew around the conspirators.

Buster was determined like a kite flying unattached to break whatever bond and magic the team Laurel and Hardy had on and off-set. He quickly climbed the wall, went to the studio dressing room and saw Babe Hardy's lights were on. He wanted to break the door, burn down the room, he was filled with rage at the two of them being alone like this. He quickly figured out what he would do.

"Good eveling, Mr. Hardy-I-Buster... BUSTER, what are you-" Stan said in shock seeing Mr. Keaton and not his Babe.

"Good evening, Stan. May I come in?"

"Buster, I don't know how you got in the lot but you must-"

"Thank you!" Buster said bursting past the shocked comedian.

Stan snaps to Buster, then looks around outside and then closes the door behind him, locking it. Buster starts taking off his clothes as he sat on a romantically decorated bed. Stan rushes over to him trying to stop him, but then Buster starts taking off his clothes in a very slapstick manner not unlike either of the two men's early movies.

"DAMMIT, BUSTER! I thought you understood I'm with Babe! He is apart of my life! He is..." Stan stopped himself, looked down breathing heavily.

Buster continued to take off his clothes, opened his shirt and then looked at Stan with curiosity and a light smile.

"What... What is he, Stan...? Or is it that within that wild heart and head of yours you don't know how to feel. Or is it that you are afraid to feel...?"

Stan pauses, looks at buster through the corner of his eyes then back down at the floor.

"Well, Stan...?"

"Buster... you need to go. Whatever it is about Babe and I, it is between us. I wish to have you as a friend and nothing more. Yes... Babe is important and means a great deal to me. Now you have to-"

Just then the door knocked. Buster looked at Stan with a shrug and a smirk. Stan's face turned ghostly white as his attention went between a mostly naked Buster Keaton sitting in bed with him, his clothes disheveled and Babe knocking at the door.

Stan bravely opened it and the inevitable happened. Within moments, Stan was dragged back into the dressed trailer, weeping heavily into his hands. Buster closed the door behind him, sat Stan on the bed and then sat next to him.

Ruth sat in the car, tapping her fingers on the drivers seat. She then noticed a upset Hardy rushing to his car. Whatever Buster did, worked. She was satisfied with a smirk and satisfaction on her face.

Back in the trailer, Stan suddenly bursts up and started ripping up the surroundings. Keaton tried to take Stan into his smaller frame as the raving man ran around the small trailer tearing down the romantic décor. Suddenly Stan snapped to Buster. A cold chill went down Keaton's spine as Stan looked at him wide eyed and wild.

Clinched fist, reddened face and breathing heavily, Stan was out for blood and his gaze fell on Buster.

"Stan... Stan, listen. I didn't think you were so-."

"Get out..." Stan said in a low, gravely tone.

"Stan lets talk-"

"There's going to be blood, Buster.-"

"Hold on, Stan-"

"Oh, not yours…"

Stan turned to the mirror, punching the glass, breaking it. He then took a piece and put it to his throat. Buster jumped on him, wrestling the glass away from the lost man. Stan falls on Buster's shoulder weeping until he passed out.

Stan woke up in his house, hours later with Ruth sitting in bed, turned away from him.

"Was the night everything you wanted, Stanley?"

"What... What are you- Ruth."

"You never dressed our home in romance and comfort!"

"Dammit, woman!" Stan flew out of bed, dizzy, blurry-eyed and running on fumes.

Ruth shot out of bed nodding her head with her fists tightened. Her eyes like daggers at her cheating husband. The room was in the darkness of the morning. Ruth too agitated to sleep, thoughts swimming with what else he was doing with his close friend, Mr. Hardy, stayed awake next to her passed out husband, waiting to confront him.

"Haven't I lost enough?! Now you go and..." Stan said.

"I WAS ALWAYS HERE, DAMMIT! WHY... Why couldn't you go to me like your women, and I suppose Him!" Ruth cried.

"I thought we could live together, be happy, not worry about life. Yes, I have done things outside of our marriage, but instead of solving it you do this. I did not help, I admit, but this... This was not the way. I swear, If I lost that man... If Babe doesn't talk to me... it will..."

"What..."

Stan shook his head, dropped it and wept. Even though Stan had put their relationship through many things, she still loved him. She was spiteful, bitter and angry. If Stan did something, she would confront him with anger and vengeance.

Ruth went to her sobbing husband wrapping her arms around him. Stan pushed her away and left the room. Ruth soon heard the noise of Stan breaking things in their house. She yelled and screamed at him to stop.

Later within the deep yellow of the early morning she found him at the kitchen table. Bottles of every alcohal were scattered around and on top of the table.


	13. Chapter Seven Part Two

It was the start of Stan's downhill journey. Ruth and Stan separated immediantely after. He was on and off seeing a Russian scam artist at the time, named Vera Ivanova "Illeana" Shuvalova. Mr. Laurel soon made her Mrs. Laurel, with the loud disapproval of a stalking Ruth. Over the time of his marriage to her, Ruth called the fire department, local authorities and caused general trouble to a already troubled relationship.

Stan and Babe reunited for Blockheads after finalizing things with Hal out of court. He was half drunk, on edge and difficult on the set. Friends tried to smooth things over by having a small birthday. The two men were cordial with one another, eating cake and trying to find words, however the event soon turned loud and rowdy.

Babe looked back at Stan surrounding himself with toxic people, shook his head and left. Seeing Oliver walk away only fueled Stan's desire to drown himself in drink, be willfully blind to everything around him. His friends did their best to watch over the man, but his wife poured the liquor down both their throats.

Stan woke up riding in the passengers seat of a driving car. He could hear his wife crying angrily behind him in Russian. The car came to a stop, with Illeana racing out of the car, emotional, drunk and stumbling into their home.

Hal Roach Jr., the driver, looked down at the drunken half awake comedian. He shook Stan's shoulder, lightly. Stan sat up to attention, groaning and cursing. His head automatically falls into his hand as the other reaches for Jr's upper back.

"Babe... Thank you. I'm glad it was you."

"Mr. Laurel, I'm-"

"I'm sorry that things became jumpy and-Oh... hey, Little Hal..." Stan said getting slightly more sober. He quickly retracted his hand, unbuckling his seat belt.

"Mr. Laurel, I know you and my father aren't as close as you used to be, however, I hope we can be friends. I'm starting to make moves in the industry also and I have always admired you and can see why... Well, many folks like being around you. Maybe cool it a bit on the drinking, but I see goodness and kindness within you."

Stan looks at the young Roach with his words passing by his ears.

"You're a nice young man. Keep away from creeps and spooks like me, Jr. I have more luggage than a train station. Lesson from a old cooked bird, be careful on who your associates are, and do not put your feelings before the cart."

"We can't be friends? Talk, go to eat sometime? I dont wish to get so personal, however I feel you can use some different company than what is in your household."

Mr. Laurel paused, the air still between them. A uncomfortable awkwardness washed over him, looking at the eager young man. "Good evening, Hal." Stan said hurrying out of the passenger seat almost breaking the car door.

"Mr. Laurel-"

Stan rushed into the house, going past his passed out drunk wife to his home office. He crashed into his chair, picked up the phone and dialed Oliver's number. A woman's voice picked up the phone, unknown to Stan.

"Is this Mr. Hardy's residence?"

"Yes, it is. Who is calling?"

"Well, I don't... Tell him Stan called. I wished to reach out and touch base."

"Alright... I will tell him you called. He seemed kind of irritated. By the way, I'm Virginia Lucille, from the studio? Babe and-what-ok, oh... Ok... Hello? Stan?"

"Yes, Virginia? Lucille, ah-"

"Just, Lucille-Look, I have to go. Babe gives his regards and happy birthday, Stan."

"Alright, Lucille... Thank you."

Stan slammed down the phone. He shot out of his chair, looked at the desk, pulled the phone out of the wall, throwing it to the ground.

"Stan was lost between his desires for drinking and wanting you to have a stable life. He felt he was a poison to everyone, including himself." Buster says looking to the side with a hold of his empty cup.

"The year and months with that... Witch... Being nice, was a reckoning for him." Keaton said with a chuckle.

"Stan literally crawled back to Ruth, not really out of love, but almost in apology. He thought she could whip him into shape, tell him what he needed to do as a man, etcetera, etcetera. The problem was he still had bottled up emotions for you. He tried to be a straightforward married man. Even though he wanted to see you, he put up a guard. Stan thought his closeness to you was unnatural, sinful and part of the reason why his life was turned sideways. The man realized that he always had those feelings before meeting you and obviously wasn't the only one.

Ruth and Stan were like married friends. She helped him resolve and confront his feelings.

Ruth confessed our sins of what we did that night, feeling partly responsible for Stan's drunkenness. She was always jealous of you, and I was too, still kind of am. But we both knew and know that without you, Stan is only half alive."

"Ruth called, telling me she'd spilled the beans to Stan. If it wasn't her, I would of. I wanted to. So I was not very much surprised to see him stagger is way to a hotel where i was staying for a publicity shoot." Reminisces Buster.

Late 1940, at a Hollywood, California hotel.

Buster stands in front of a mirror, the figure facing back at him his own judge and jury. Gilt of hurting someone he desired by his need and jealousy for them to be together. His spine and foot steps weighted from the flowing sludge in his veins knowing what was wrong, nonetheless felt right within the moment. Of course it back fired. In public Stan wouldn't even wave at him and deliver cold side eye views. He lost not only someone he loved dearly, but most importantly his friendship and love.

The door knocked on Busters hotel room door. Thinking it was a director or some media assistant, Keaton dragged his feet like a fellow within a imprisoned chain gang. Head low, breath cooled, Buster opened the door looking down at the floor.

"Yes-I... Stan...?"

Keaton's veins glittered in shock, happiness and promise, then turned to dismay and worry as he looked over the sad state of the man before him. Slightly disheveled, strong with the smell of spirits not originally from his body, but flowing throughout, Stan held himself in the door frame, arms stretched, hair undone and glazed eyes looked up at his betrayer.

"Ruth... Ruth told told me, Buster..."

"Stan-come in..."

"Really... You hungry, tart!" Stan snapped.

"No, no-Stan..." Buster said, then poked his head out of the room spied down both ways of the hall. "Stan, just come in! I do not want people to see you like this! Or more people..." Said Keaton as he put a arm around the staggering man, gently dragged him into the room.

Stan pushes his arm off, breathes out heavily and continued to look up at Buster. Stan nodded his head with a slight smirk and rushed in. Buster quickly closed the door behind himself, hearing Stan crash to the floor. Keaton falls to Stan's side helping him to the edge of the bed.

"Is this what you wanted...? To take me in this sorry state. Unsure about what I should and should not feel?!" Stan asked in a low bitter tone.

"Stan... I...-" Buster started as he was untying Stan's shoes, looking down.

"Was it fun? You did have a smile looking at Babe with... With tears in his eyes!" Stan cried out.

Buster paused looking up at Stan who fell into his open hands weeping loudly. Buster took Stan's upper arms into his palms trying to sit the tearful man more steady.

"Stan, I was jealous and did not think! We both were. Ruth and I did not know it would affect you so terribly because you dammed well went to everyone! We thought Babe was another fling! But alas... You have real feelings for the man... Deep feelings... I thought you would... selfishly... run back to me... Remember the fun we had and how we fit... It was my feelings-what I felt and remembered about how my emotions were for you... Not considering... Oh God, Stan! Stan, I'm... I'm sorry! I'm so, sorry! You truly love him!"

Stan snaps out of Buster's arms, walking to the other side of the room. Keaton hurried to his feet looking at the man in the distance, within the same room.

"Don't... You do not DARE say how I feel! You don't know how I feel! I shouldn't feel this way! It's illegal! It's a sin! Everything within religion, family, society says that it is wrong! I have ALWAYS been wrong! Looking for the right woman to... Then Babe... Dear lord, why! WHY DID YOU FILL MY HEAD AND HEART WITH THESE EMOTIONS!"

"STAN! You're not the first or last one!" Buster yelled with tearful eyes. "It is just who you are!"

Keaton walked hurryingly over the paused Stan, putting his arms around Mr. Laurel from behind, resting his head on his back, looking out the window.

"It is how I 'am. Men and women are just a certain way. What is wrong with the way we feel and companionship? It is no ones business. I wouldn't want to share you anyway and never did."

Stan drops his head like a stone thrown in a deep lake. "That is exactly what Ruth said. And that she would love me in anyway I came in."

"The first thing you said wasn't about you, It was about how sad and torn up Babe looked that night. If that isn't pure, sweet emotion from heaven, then what is?"

"It's twisted... I should-" Stan started in reply to Buster.

"No!" Keaton interrupted. He then sharply turned Stan to him, slightly shaking Mr. Laurel, looking deep into his eyes with his widened eyes. "You, love him, dammit! You-Love-Him!"

"Stop! Quiet!" Stan shouted.

"It's not comedy is it? Two men going through life together, raising a girl? Always ending up together? Fiction sometimes comes from desires of the heart... Stan...!"

Stan stood in Buster's vice grip breathing quietly and fast. His words stabbing his emotions, in his head and heart.

"Stan..." Buster cried, his face falling into Stan's chest, wetting his shirt with tears.

1955 Disney Land, early evening.

"So that is why you came with him like that. I honestly thought you two went on a alcoholic binge." Oliver recounts nodding his head. "Yes, my emotions were like a flat road. I was married... Newly married to the most wonderful woman I have ever met, yet... I guess it is like how you said Stan felt, I just wanted to be apart of what society needed me to be. All of my clubs, association's, lewd jokes made about people in the lifestyle or who they privately are... I wanted to live free without backlash because of... My feelings... I lived freely as a I pleased within a society on the surface, yet chained by my... My emotions, mind and heart. And to know that Stan... Stan... He still doesn't tell me much... We simply live for everyday we have."

Oliver Hardy's residence, evening, late 1940.

Lucille looked over her groom whom was slightly leaned forward, back turned from the room, sat on a ottoman. She laced her fingers together, shaking her head lightly in worry and concern.

"Oliver, it is for the best. He called and sounded alright. You can always call him back, but you said-"

"No!" Oliver firmly stated. "No... No more playing with me as if I'm a spinning top! Sometimes... Sometimes I wonder... If he even cared about me!" Babe said tearfully. His face dripped with tears.

Lucille rushed over to his side, scooted the chair next to him closer and sat in it, rubbed his shoulders, patted his cheeks and laid her head on top of his.

"Oh, Babe... I can only say, maybe he is just a confused man? He doesn't know what he wants, or is too afraid to confront what he wants and needs."

The doorbell rung, cutting the emotions of the room to shock. They weren't expecting anyone. Lucille patted Babe, looked down at him, nodded her head and went over to the door. Oliver wiped his tears and followed behind, got in front of her and answered the door.

Opening the door he saw a puppy-eyed Buster Keaton holding up a mostly sober Stan Laurel. Stan, with a arm around Buster, helping him stand. His eyes and head to the side, embarrassed, sorry and desperate. Babe shook his head and slammed the door close, muttered 'no' to himself, while he adjusted his clothes and walked away from the door spiritedly. Lucille looked back at Babe with her fingers at the bottom of her lip. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hardy turned their heads back to the knocking of the door. Oliver stomped to it, stopping behind his wife.

"We are unavailable for visitors or solicitation! Take it down the road!" Babe said with a nod.

He started to walk away when another knock and Buster's voice came from the other side.

"I will be out here all night. You know it isn't right for you two to ever be apart. It wasn't Stan's fault, Oliver, it was mine! He didn't know I would be there. I was stalking you two." Buster confessed.

Babe blinked a few times, then turned back to the door slightly. Lucille looked at her husband and sighed vocally.

"I will make some tea and other refreshments." She said with a slightly sarcastic tone, her fingers lightly on the door knob. She then walked past him and said, "It is your choice."

The door knocked some more, Buster's pleading swimming throughout Oliver's heart and emotions as he swallowed searching for a decision.


	14. Chapter Eight Part One

Oliver looked at his two unexpected guest's, sitting across from him within his home. Babes fingers tapped on the edge of the table with the rhythm of his leg and tapping ankle. Stan sat there with his head down, feeling Oliver's eyes cover him. Buster and Lucille struck up a conversation about his career and what happened that night in which made her husband so emotional.

"Well, it indeed sounds as though they are close... I always realized that I was a addition to their career marriage... However, it seems clearly there are deeper roots that go into their personal lives and emotions." Lucille stated. She then turned to her husband, patted his hand making his body go steady.

Oliver looked at his wife with a curious concern of what she would say. Lucille traced her finger in between the lines of Oliver's hand, with a open smile, looking down at it, she sighed and nodded.

"You care about him deeply. All you have been doing for the past few months without him is talk about how you felt betrayed, if he ever cared, his selfishness..." Lucille said.

Stan hearing her words awoke his senses toward Babe. His eyes full of tears and body full of rushing, different emotions.

"If I ever cared...? Babe..." Stan asked tearfully.

"Yes, Stan," Lucille replied. "He has been here angry and in simple heartache over you! I know you have called, however... I suppose he wasn't ready to speak to you."

"If I ever cared...?" Stan said in a low, angry tone as his eyes widened and head lowered. Stan's thoughts turned to a tornado. Forgetting he was on Earth, he shot out of the chair almost tipping over the table.

Everyone looked at the table then at Stan. Oliver, then Buster stood looking at him. Oliver looked at him with tears and longing in his eyes, yet standing with a guarded heart and body.

"Boys, please! Just stop this! Talk to one another! it is obviously driving you both mad without one another and unable to function! Babe I love you, but you are almost robotic!" Lucille said loudly as she went over to her husbands side, taking Oliver's arm into hers.

Stan became emotional seeing her close to him. Then nods his head realizing he is in a home. He closed his eyes, rolled his head back and then breathed out heavily. Stan's head fell straight, his gaze laser directed at Babe. Babe's tears started to slow being caught within Stan's eyes, however he shook his head heavily, turned from him and wiped his lower lip with his fingers.

"Babe, please." Lucille pleaded. "It has been long enough."

"I want my heart to be in comfort and safety. I wanted to give it to you, I trust you, you have been good to me, Lucille... however..." Babe started.

"You can't give something that is already given and made for someone else, dammit!" Stan yelled as he grabbed at the center of his chest.

Stan swallowed looking at Babe's back. Oliver became frozen at Stan's declaration. He then lifted his head, turned to Stan with lowered eyes.

"I don't mind you two being friends, Stan... I guess our friends just shouldn't mix socially. It complicates things. I realize that I 'am not the only person in your life... Or was... It should be cordial and friendly between us. I do not hate you." Babe said to Stan emotionally.

"Dammit, the both of you!" Buster snapped. "Stan is a mess without you and you are a mess without him! I realize you are reluctant and wish for sensibilities, however, this is what God gave you."

"Or the Devil! God allows Satan to do a lot on Earth, Buster." Babe retorted.

"Whatever! The point is that you two are inter-"

"You were always a blessing to me. Nothing evil or hellish about you, except being at this distance! I'm stood in here with you, yet feel oceans away because you wont give me the time of day... Most likely rightfully so. At the very least you have my heart in your chest. Hopefully you can feel it's tears, my dearest, Babe. Whatever I have done with whomever, I never felt the way about them I do with you... I didn't touch Buster that night, and a barely touched any of my other wives after that... You want the truth?! My thoughts were on you, Mostly always are!"

Oliver shook his head lightly at Stan, looked at him, absorbing and digesting his words into meaning with slightly opened lips.

"Drowning myself in every drink I can find, yelling and fighting the world around me from my garden, my wives, mistresses' and the sky. Diving into arms, between legs, under covers, it all comes back to you, Babe! It has always been you! We are sown together..."

Oliver blinked tears from his eyes, swallowed, lightly turned his head to the side, Babes surroundings became light and faded within Stan's emotional words toward him. His wall of protection and pride chipping. Lucille wiped his tears and patted his chest.

Suddenly Stan breathed out heavily and said, "So you have someone else to do that, is that what it tis'?! What happened when we used to wipe one another's eyes?! Haven't I always taken care of you?! Stuck up for you in and out of the studio! I'm going to impregnate you!"

Everyone cocked their heads away from Stan in bewilderment, then Stan stomped, rushing to Babe. Buster pulled at Stan's arm, but was pulled along. Oliver stood there in shock and was too late to react as Stan took Babe's arms into his tightening palms, now handcuffed to him.

"Come here, Dammit! Don't you dare! I should rip you apart in front of what's-his-name or her-name!" Stan said slightly shaking Babe, looking into his face.

Oliver then tired to push Stan away, however Stan maneuvered his hands into different points on Babe's body, roaming about his torso, keeping a lock on him. It was like water trying to run away from wet.

"That is my wife Lucille! Virginia Lucille Hardy! Not yer' dammed what's-her-name or whatever!"

Stan turned his head to Lucille. His face with dried tears and a slightly soggy nose. "Oh, good evening, misses! We havent formally been introduced, I'm going to tear your husband a new one. Care to watch?" Stan said in a bright , sparkling, sarcastic tone.

"Dammit, Stan! Stan!" Oliver started to yell.

"Just, come here... Come, Babe... Together we make a bed. I'm the cover to your pillow. Come here..." Stan pleaded gently.

Oliver breathed out heavily, then fell on to Stan's shoulder in a embrace. Stan closed his eyes, a smile traced his closed lips as a wash of relief and release came from the both of them.

Lucille and Buster smiled.

"He really didn't touch me, Oliver. Trust me, I tried to have him do so. I have never seen him so faithful to anyone." Buster explained.

"And... It happens to be with my husband... oh..." Lucille sighed tearfully.

"Lucille... I-" Oliver started.

"Let me talk to her, Babe-bee... I know exactly how she feels. Besides you two have some... catching up to do. Lucille, lets sit down. Stan and Babe have some talking to do." Buster requested.

Lucille nodded and went to sit with Buster. Stan and Oliver looked at one another, embraced again and then sat down in the living room. As Lucille sat down with Buster she saw Stan and Babe getting along as the two of them would. Their hands wrapped within one another's, faces close and magnetism. Then suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she saw them kiss, lip to lip. Lucille gasped loudly, then Buster took her hands into his, slightly pulling her attension back to him.


	15. Chapter Eight Part Two

I soon found out why Stan took me out to Disney land. We weren't really invited, however it was not hard for Stan to obtain a few invitations for us on the fact that Walt is an admirer of our work. There was a large fireworks show and a romantic water tunnel for couples. Of course everyone laughed, whistled, exchanged bet money at the two of us going into the swan shaped water boat made for two. Stan and I played along with their teasing, smiling with closed lips and rolling around our eyes like the trained clowns we were.

Within the tunnel there were flowers, boxes of candy and other small gifts, with romantic music. Stan and I grabbed gifts for one another and exchanged them. Then before the ride was over I saw Buster waiting at the end of it, to the side. I thought he had more to say or wanted to join us for something social. We both stepped off the boat and greeted him. He offered to hold our gifts as I followed behind Stan whom was walking in front of me now with Buster. I started to get upset, but realized they were friends and Buster remembered everything he had told me earlier.

"Is the room ready? You talked to the restaurant, eh? And the balcony is in the correct space, yeah?" Stan asked Buster in a worried manner.

Buster kept reassuring him that everything was "set up" and the machine was in the same room. My curiosity peaked at what they were saying, however, I did not wish to invade their conversation. We soon came to the destination that was mostly empty. Only a few people, maybe 20 or so, were in the lavish restaurant. Most folks were at the fireworks show, getting pictures taken for Disney and their agents.

We walked right into a not-too small or large darkened event room. Stan, took my hand, looked back at me with his gentle, closed smile that always melted any frost I had. I couldn't help but smile back. My friends and family said where ever I went, people would smile, however when and where ever, Stan always makes me smile.

The two of us were soon on the balcony over looking the event space a few stories above everyone. Buster closed the room door. Suddenly the lights turned on and the space was decked out in the same romantic setting from all those decades ago, that Buster had spoiled for the both of us.

I apologize, the moment was very emotional for me. Where was I? It is a few hours from where I was writing and reminiscing this. In remembrance of becoming us, right Stanley? I do not wish for another stroke, so now and days I have to pace myself.

Anyhow...,

Stan and Buster must of came together, planning this for months, arranging with Walt and other event organizers to do this. Buster came within a few meters of us, keeping a certain distance. Suddenly Stan got on one knee holding my hand. I instantly burst into laughter, holding my mouth, I snapped my head back and forward looking down at him.

"Stan...! Stan, come on!" I laughed.

"Norvell Oliver Hardy, Oliver Norvell Hardy... My darling, dear, sweet, Babe..." Stan started.

Laughing I asked, "Are you serious... Stanley. What? Are you going to use one of those two dollar rings from the ride?"

"A rose by any other name would be just as sweet, alas I humbly request that you join with me in sharing one together, in the name of commitment to one another as we always have, as you have proven over the decades, to me. I wish to prove it to you, no matter the distance that you have my heart within you." Stan said.

My eyes started to fill with tears as my throat also tightened. I tried my best not to get emotional in front of Buster, but then I saw his eyes fill with tears, his lips roll back and him squeezing at his interlocked hands. I lost it after that. Stan pulled out a little black box with a receipt paper.

"Will you be with me, Babe...? We cannot get married, for more than a few reasons," Stan laughed. "And you have been with me all this time. I wished to have cemented it... All of those years ago. Here..."

The box had two rings within and some old yellowed receipt paper stapled to it. They were small gold pinky rings, plain, unassuming. The receipt was post dated to that same month in 1938 that Stan planned our private rendezvous in the trailer. All that time he kept the ring and the desire to do this for me... For us.

I accepted his proposal, tearfully and cried out what felt like decades of sludge, ice and held back emotion into his shoulders almost falling on him as he stood to his feet. He cried also. We were both a mess. And as on que, the firework show started. Stan took my cheeks into his hands, wiped tears and other yuck from my face with his bare fingers, and pulled me in for a deep passionate kiss. I do not know how long we embraced and kissed for, but it felt timeless, right and comforting.

Buster walked over, waking us up from our heavenly embrace of our bodies and souls, patting and shaking both of us looking between Stan and I. He nodded his head and smiled.

"Bachelor night?" Buster joked.

Stan and I laughed. I shook my head then kissed my teeth.

"I meant for me. I will give Stan back in a few... More years. It is a win, win." Buster continued to joke.

"Alright, Buster, alright." I said. "I assume Stan wanted you as a witness and that you truly felt remorseful. Thank you, Buster. I know you care about Stan a great deal. It takes a big man to let go and allow someone you love to be happy with someone else. I completely and fully understand almost everyday of my life."

I patted Buster's shoulder, lightly embraced him, then released. He then kissed his lips, rolled his tear-filled eyes and said, "Dammit, Oliver, now I can see why Stan got diabetes!"

We all roared in laughter to the loud bursting of fire works. Stan then suddenly took my hands, placing one on the balcony railing and the other in his hand. He slipped the ring on my pinky finger, saying vows to me. I was then given a ring from Buster, he'd gotten from the box. I had to quickly make up vows and was mad, and happy at the same time because i was unprepared! I told him what was in my heart, which I hope he feels beating in his chest.

Stan pulled out a small tealight candle, placed it on the railing, took my hand into his making us both hold a single match. Together we lit the small red and white swirled candle, the colors signifying purity and passion. We then sealed our commitment with a kiss. Suddenly, I felt rice being thrown, of course it was Buster. I wanted to curse, but felt so happy it was as if my soul was washed. No foulness to be found, not even in words.

Buster told us to stand still as he took pictures of us. Our makeshift attendant then went to another side of the room and turned on music. The same music, of course, from that night. I felt young again, as if there were no strokes, no grey hair, I could of jumped up a mountain and swim to Europe!

later on we had dinner and some cupcakes, with the staff none the wiser and danced alone together in the center of the room to, slow and intimate.

We went back to the hotel room and almost instantly physically consummated our bond in physical passions.

We had a vacation, that turned into a wedding, then a honeymoon!


	16. Epilogue Part Stan

"Stan... He fell into a coma... You have heart problems yourself. It will tear your heart a part... Babe wouldn't... I will be with him... Do not come over. It will... He will be released from this pain any day now. Forgive me if I do not have much to say, please? Stan... Hello? Stan are you still there." Lucille asks, talking to Stan over the phone. Stan nods his head, with a slightly trembling hand. His eyes filled with tears, listening to Lucille's news of Oliver.

Ida took his free hand, patted it and looked at her sorrowful husband. Stan's eyes wondered about, finding what to say, lost in a pushing and pulling void. He knew that Babe was sick, but did not want to beleive it would get worse, that it would end like this.

"Yes... I... Of course... Thank you, Lucille. Here, Ida... Here..." Stan passes the phone shakily to Mrs. Laurel, shoots up from the chair and rushes to the balcony.

Ida thanks Lucille for the call and hangs up the phone slowly. She lifts her head to Stan, with his back turned to the apartment. His hands gripping the railing tightly, she starts to hear him sniffle and clear his throat. Stan soon feels the gentle caress of his wife on his shoulder, rubbing up and down his back.

"People come out of a coma, Ida. We will have to see what happens, right?"

"Yes, Stanley, we must prepare for everything. Whatever happens, happens."

Stan slightly turns his head to Ida, nods, then looks forward at the ocean.

He remembered the times the two men would go on cruises all over the world, The Queen Mary, his personal boat. Mr. Laurel shakes his head, trying to knock out the memories, walking back into his apartment.

He sits down at his desk, looking at a photo of one of their favorite movies, sighed by both of them, Babe having the same picture with the same autographs. He almost slams down the photo not wanting to see it. Stan then rubs his face and feels the cold metal of the pinky commitment ring he exchanged with Babe just a few years ago.

He remembers the both of them sitting together at Oliver's home, in the backyard. It was a few weeks after their ceremony, a warm day like today.

"So you will never take it off, Stanley?"

"Never... It is already wrapped around my heart, Babe."

"You said I had your heart." Babe smiled.

"So then you know already." Stan replied.

"Stan... I'm Happy... Thank you, and..."

His memory ends with their faces meeting for a kiss, the words blurred in the rising tears from his eyes. Ida rushes over to Stan, almost falling to her knees in front of him taking his head into the cup of her neck. Stan weeps quietly yet heavily. Limp and drained.

Days later,

Stan sits in bed. Doctors orders he gets rest and doesn't stress himself out too much. Ida and his daughter, Lois left a photo album, a snack and the phone at his bedside. They tried to convince him to hire a nurse for the day, but he wished to be alone.

Stan tries lifting his hand to open the album, but is too weak and mostly emotional. He knows what is in it and doesn't wish to be reminded right now. Mr. Laurel wanted to fade away, forget this day ever happened the way it did, Oliver passing away the way he did and most of all that he was first.

"I was more reckless, going about. Hell, two years older than you... But you... I can not realize that I shall never hear your voice at least over the phone. See you thick or thin... Babe... This is a nightmare. How can the sun and everything go on? If you aren't here... Maybe I fainted and this is imagination, I 'am alone..."

Stan opens the book and Starts looking into it reminiscing over publicity and personal photos.

"You always tried to cheer me up, Babe.

I wasn't having any of what people wish for me and you, in your way coaxed me, with faces and whispers...

Then we planned to go somewhere or do something you like this day, or one of my hobbies that day... yes...

Look at this one, Babe! You really grew on Lois, she loves you, you're a second father to her, now. Sometimes I think she knows... But she still calls you Uncle Babe. Then you help with the Grandchildren... Like we always wanted, Babe. We have it, we always will, dear.

I can't hear you. Babe, please, I... You are just in another room... making lunch? I already have a snack, the girls made me something before-"

Stan weeps over the open book, tracing his fingers on Babe's image in the photo. Shaking his head lightly in disbelief, Stan sighs and lays back. He then looks to the side of him seeing a empty space in the bed.

"It was beautiful, I do not know how to really describe it to father," Says Lois. "But I will do my best. I think he always liked this flower."

"Yes that is what Stan, said. Babe and Stan both liked that flower." Ida replies as she opens the door to the apartment.

"I suppose it made sense Babe had this at the service. Father! it's me and Ida, the grandchildren are with my husband! I hope you got some rest!"

Ida and Lois go into the apartment, straight to the master bedroom and see Stan laying to his side, facing inward on the bed, curled up. The photo album under his hand in the space next to him, below the pillow. On the pillow is a portrait of a younger Oliver Hardy In his prime, close to Stan's face. At first they are both frightened, then Lois pauses immediately. Her hand raises to her mouth and chest. Tears fill both of their eyes, trying to hold back weeping loudly.

"I make tea... Or something stronger... Yes, coffee and cake loaf." Ida says, shaking her head and walking away in a hurry.

"...Father." Lois cries quietly.

Lois places the flower between her father and the picture, brushes Stans hair lightly and kisses the side of his head. She then kisses her fingers and puts them on the photo of Babe, blinking away tears. Lois stands straight, turns and leaves the room, closing the door to a thin opening.


	17. Epilogue Part Lucille

The interviewer thanked Mr. Laurel again with a handshake, gave his condolences and went out of the apartment. Stan nodded to himself as Ida closes their front door. She looks at him, rubs his shoulder, asks him if he was well. He sighs telling her in a sarcastic tone, "As well as can be, I suppose."

"Come on, it almost tea time. Let us sit, rest, Stanley. Lucille say she will come later."

"Oh, yes, with that interview, it almost slipped my mind. Thank you, dear. You're too good to me." Stan says.

"Someone needs to be." Ida replies with a smile.

Stan wraps his arm around her, kisses Ida's cheek and pulls her close.

A few hours later, Lucille arrives to the Oceana apartment. She greets Ida in a solemn tone. It was the first time since the funeral that the two women had seen one another and weeks since she had seen Stan.

She carried with her a binder, halfway full of papers. Lucille knew the contents and when she first read them was tempted to dispose of the writing. However, it was something her husband wrote about him and Stan's lifetime together, things she did not now, things she knew but did not want to realize. Thinking it was only right to show him what Babe thought of them, Lucille knew he wrote it for a reason.

"Good afternoon, Stan." Lucille said in a sharp tone. A part of her was upset over the things she read, feeling she was confronting a mistress at the same time Stan was a dear, sweet family friend that cared about Oliver deeply and was grieving also.

Stan brought Babe a happiness that she could not, no matter how dutiful Lucille was. Sitting at the table, Ida and Stan looked at one another then at Lucille. They could feel the tension coming from her by the look on Lucille's face, mannerisms and aura.

She sits down across from him at the table, breathed in slowly, closing her eyes and slowly breathes out. Her eyes flash open, locking on Stan's face.

"Stan... There is something I have to tell you. Babe wrote somethings... A lot of things, about the two of you. I noticed him doing this about two or so years ago after we came back from Italy when you two were finished with that movie. I only thought it was right for you to see what he thought of you. None of the writings have anything to do with business, family, friends, nothing. Absolutely nothing except for... For the life you shared together, at least for the most part. There are things he left out."

Stan looks down at the binder Lucille slides to him. He froze in place then blinked reaching for it. He asks Ida for his glasses, nervous, filled and conflicted on what the contents are.

"Lucille... Babe and I... We..."

"You loved him..." Lucille interrupted.

Stan crossed his legs, moving them slightly, darting his eyes with a few blinks. Ida hands him his glasses and rest her hands on her husbands shoulders.

"Lucille, it has been hard on all of us. Stan misses Oliver, greatly." Ida says in a soft tone. "We discuss this, yes? We know that-"

"Ida that is not the point!" Lucille snapped, first looking at Ida then at Stan. Lucille puts her palms flat on the table, does her best to keep back the emotion starting to leak from her eyes in the form of tears. She swallows and says, "You can read that in your leisure, Stan, however from what I read and understand you had him keep back his own words, his emotions. There were things that I could never provide, but I thought you two could share things. He kept saying 'I wont say the words', 'I will do what you asked, Stanley'. Did you ever, once... allow Babe to tell you that he loved you? Did you tell him that you loved him?!"

"Somethings do not need words, Lucille." Stan replies "I... We lived our emotions. Sometimes words can get in the way. in my experience words can be bad luck and I only-"

"Bad luck, Stan?!" Lucille cried.

"Lucille you are emotional, I understand, I am widow also, I lost husband too, years ago." Ida says sitting next to her husband. "Stanley answered your question. The two had a... ah... Special relationship. What else can there be said?"

"You're right Ida, not much to be said. What they did, they did. However... I'm coming to you as a friend, Stan. I know you loved, that it wasn't something lustful or a midnight call. In all of the years I have known you and was married to Oliver, you never told one another you loved each other!

Babe was the most sweetest, soft spoken, gentle giving man... And for you to tell him or convince him in anyway not to tell what was in his and your heart, not to fully share that... that is what should be also grieved. Because you were afraid to love him or confirm it in words! You're a writer, you know words are powerful!"

"You come in here thinking you know me because of whatever Babe wrote." Stan snaps.

"Stan your blood sugar-" Ida urges.

"No, Ida! Mrs. Hardy is using me as a beating board for Babe's passing, fine!"

"Stan, that is not what I 'am saying. I'm honestly concerned about you... And sad that you and Babe just... The two of you did so much together... What was the problem telling one another you loved each other?" Lucille says shaking her head. She then wipes away tears and sniffs loudly.

"Well you sure have a unique way of showing your concern, dear!" Stan says sarcastically. "I was in his life before you got hired to that accursed studio, you know that, the world knows that! Yes, it has always been hard for me to express myself in many ways, apart of me still thinks it is wrong, however we were happy! Nothing about being with Babe was ever wrong to me... It still isn't." Stan says in a stern tone.

"You wish to know my feelings...? I wanted him to walk through the door, not you! I wanted to go before he did, yeah? Or just pass..." Cries Stan. He brings a hand to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears.

Ida rubs and holds Stan. He sniffles, wipes his tears and looks down. Lucille goes over to Stan and embraces him.

"I loved him, Lucille... I still do! How dare you!" Stan cries.

"Yes, Stan. Please let it out. We all loved him. Say it for Babe, say it for yourself." says Lucille tearfully.

"I always hated you calling him Babe... We couldn't be together the way we truly wished... We had many ups and downs, and yes there were things I told him not to say... Nonetheless, he married you! You got to sleep with him every night waking up to his warm face that the dawn itself was envious of... Can I not at the least... Have the honor of calling him Babe to myself...?" Stan asks emotionally.

Lucille nods, wipes away his tears, then hers.

"Thank you, Lucille. He never called Oliver, Oliver, you know this." Ida says in a crackling voice.

"Alright... Now... Enough of that mush...! I suppose we both had pent up grief... I suppose we always will." Stan states solemnly as his eyes lower to the side.

"Yes, it is still fresh... When you... Love and care for someone it will always be open, because it is a space only they can fill." Lucille replies as she sits back in her chair.

"Dammit, Lucille, I told you no more mush!" Stan laughs.

Lucille and Ida chuckle loudly. Stan then nods his head and says, "A Babe shaped, hole..." Stan then weeps heavily.

Ida holds him close to her as Stan covers his face with his hands, crying heavily.

"Darn, it Stan" Lucille chuckles tearfully. "I just sat back down." Lucille rubs his back, kisses the top of his head and looks at Ida.

"He never really cried, has he Ida?" Widow Hardy asks.

"No, he did not-" Ida is interrupted by a the door bell.

Everyone pauses and looks at the door. Lucille offers to answer it so Ida can continue to comfort Stan. She looks through the peephole and gasps. Lucille almost tares open the door, getting in a defensive stance at who is in the doorway.

"You!" Lucille shouts.

"What, who is it?" Ida says looking past Lucille. "Oh, alright, come in."

"Unexpected, surprise visit. I thought it would be good for Stan to have spontaneous support." Says Buster.

"I'm sure, Buster!" Lucille says sarcastically. "Well wont you-"

"Thank you, dear" Keaton interrupts as he walks past her.

Lucille slams the door, looking at Buster make a b-line for Stan. Mr. Keaton is dressed in a formal casual fashion, with a bouquet of two dozen white roses in hand, tied in a silk white ribbon. He then lays in on the table and looks down at the reddened eyed Stan.

"I came just in time! I will take over ladies, thank you, a van is downstairs to escort you away." Buster inappropriately jokes, embracing Stan, rubbing his shoulders and back, then kisses his head and then laying the side of his face on top of Stan's head.

"Buster..." Stan brokenly sighs. "I do not know what you may think. I loved Babe and we had... Have a undying commitment to one another, nothing, no body, no part of hell will ever change that."

Buster lifts his head and pauses his caressing. "We are using, the word 'love' now, are we?" Says Keaton in slight shock.

Stan looks at Ida, then Lucille and replies, "We always did, in our life together... Yes, I love, Babe... And always will."

"What in Satan's blazing army did I miss?" Buster asks.

Ida, Stan and Lucille laugh tearfully.


	18. Epilogue Part Little Grown -Up Lois

After my father passed, Ida gave me a note he had written to me. It left instructions he wanted me to personally execute. My father was a particular perfectionist, so it was bittersweet I would have this honor solely.

The fans, public, lovers, and associates would see his funeral, whenever we share the footage.

My father will have a regular service, then his body cremated. His remains put to rest as "Stan Laurel." People will come from all over the world, leave flowers, blessings, thank you' s at this grave site. A man they loved, admired, laughed at. It will be a shrine of sorts.

I can see why he wanted me to do what I did all those decades ago.

_"Dear Lois,_

_If you are reading this I have passed away. I want you first to know I love you and the grandchildren very much. As you might of guessed or realized long ago, Uncle Babe and I were more than just friends, closer than brothers._

_Babe and I made special arrangements to have our hearts taken out, preserved and when the both of us pass, they will be specially cremated together with the notes we wrote to one another, the notes he wrote over a decade ago, then our commitment rings placed within a burial urn. I know this sounds rather drastic, amazing and simply unbelievable, however it was our wish._

_The world had Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. Our wives and lovers had our bodies, minds and emotions, nonetheless, we always had each others hearts and immortal commitment. Everyone knows when Babe died, apart of me also went. I loved him._

_His love is haunting and alive within me, it truly, besides you, the grandchildren and Ida, keeps me going._

_The location has been arranged and payed for also. There will be no cost to you what so ever, from transportation to burial of Babe and mine's final eternal union._

_Only you, your children and so forth will be the holder of this location. I ask that you keep is private because the both of us lived such public lives in this world. Our grave marker will be flush with the ground and say_

_"Arthur S. Jefferson-Hardy & Norvell O. Jefferson-Hardy, Beloved partners to one another."_

_Thank you Lois, and remember everyday that Babe and I loved you very much. Be nice! We are watching you and the grandchildren closely!_

_Your Loving father and Babe sends his regards in spirit."_

There is a place, where the rabble of people in Hollywood pass everyday on their lavish vacations and holidays. It is unassuming, common, yet holds something dear and precious, not only to me, but to the two men that loved me and were in love with one another.

Yes father, I knew.

As long as you were happy, I didn't say anything or care, it was more successful than the other relationships! So be it!

If you go to that island, sense it with your heart. It is hidden between the ocean and the green. Only those that know love will find it.

***Fin. The End. Final***


End file.
